


Creaks

by ImagineCharlotte



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Haunted Houses, M/M, Very domestic, domestic!jeanmarco, jeanmarco
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-10
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-03 19:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 24,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4112707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImagineCharlotte/pseuds/ImagineCharlotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four years into their relationship, Jean and Marco get a townhouse in a quaint neighborhood near campus. Neither think much of it when small objects go missing and reappear in odd places, nor why the basement door wont stay shut no matter how many times Jean fixes it. Weeks pass and things become more and more strange, and Jean can't overlook Marco's unexplainable failing health.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. House Warming

**_October 3, 2014_ **

****

“Congratulations!” Their friends shout and hold their drinks up. Glasses clink and short, humorous toasts along with the light conversations of the guests fill the small living room. Throughout the evening, Jean and Marco are congratulated several more times by their friends.

After four years of being together, the couple had taken the big strides of exchanging promise rings and buying a little sage townhouse. The street had the perfect amount of privacy and gave off a cozy neighborhood vibe that instantly sold Marco. Jean liked the color.

“Get a room!” Eren whines from the living room doorway, catching the two canoodling in the kitchen. The best part is they have not just a room, but a house all to themselves.

“Yeah, Marco, get a room.” Jean teased as he tilted his head back and chuckled against his boyfriend’s jaw. Marco hummed and rested his chin on Jean’s shoulder as his hands on the blonde’s hips moved up to wrap around his chest. Jean held a wineglass fixed on the table as he filled it, simultaneously keeping himself steady as Marco tugged him back into a rough grind against his ass.

 Jean let out a surprised laugh and Marco waited for set the bottle down to purr in his ear, “Then who would bring our guests the wine?”

“First, behave yourself. Then explain to me why we’re serving wine to begin with. Where’s the beer and vodka?”

“Wine is classy. This is a housewarming party, not a keg party.”

“Ah, right, classy. Like how dry humping me where anyone could walk in any second is classy.”

“Well aren’t you the reserved one today. And yes, that type of classy. Wine and grind.”

“Oh my god.” The blonde took the tray of drinks and walked out of Marco’s loosened hold, “Oookay, who wants to get drunk?” He asked loudly as he walked into the living room.

“It’s not that type of party, Jean.” Marco called to him, shaking his head and shoving the cork back into the bottleneck.

 

 

Around ten, they started to clean up the kitchen, throwing out paper and plastic plates and cutlery. They may have had a tight budget, but Jean had no say in spending the extra ten dollars for the kind that look like spiffy glass plates.

Marco opened the basement door where they placed the garbage bags on the wall’s narrow shelf and plucked one out. A scratching sounds came from the bottom of the stairs and Marco leaned in. He flicked the light on and stared down at the empty space. A mouse scurried across the top of the stairs and under one of the steps, almost giving the brunette a premature heart attack. He moved his hand from his chest to shut the light off and close the door before returning to the party.

Their friends enjoyed their stay and left within the hour as most had an early work shift and plans. The couple walked the remaining friends outside to the front yard to say their goodbyes.

“Congratulations again, guys.” Armin smiled and glanced at the house, “It’s pretty awesome that you did this.”

“You just tell me when the honeymoon phase is over and he turns into a bigger jerk, Marco.” Eren smirked as he jabbed a thumb in Jean’s direction. “I’ll gladly kick his ass out and take his place.”

“The hell’d you say?”

Marco chuckled and held up his left hand, “Sorry, I’m stuck with him.”

“You poor soul.” Eren said darkly then turned to Jean. “For real, though, good job.”

Jean sneered at him, “Tha-”

Eren hushed him and put his hand on his shoulder, speaking oh so gently, “Now you can become the old man I know you’ve been harboring inside.”

Jean gave him an impassive stare and grabbed Eren’s hand, twisting it to turn his frenemy around. “Thanks for coming, buh-bye now.”

“Thanks for having us,” Mikasa said kindly and pushed Eren along before he could spit out another sarcastic comment. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” Marco smiled and he and Jean waved as the trio started their walk back to their on-campus apartment. He hummed and turned to Jean. “That was nice.”

“Yeah, considering nobody tripped over the hundred packed boxes.” Jean chuckled.

“We’ll start those tomorrow.”

“Mmm. I recall Eren said something about getting a room?”

“Indeed he did.” Jean yelped followed by a laugh when he was swooped off his feet and into Marco’s arms. “Let’s pick one.” Boyish giggles bubbled out of the blonde as his boyfriend sprinted into the house and up the stairs.

 

**_October 4 , 2014 _ **

 

Marco hummed along as he finished unpacking one of the clothing boxes. He gave up on folding most of the shirts and opted to hang the rest up. He would organize them later. His work done, Marco moved onto the next box. He ripped off the packing tape and made a content noise when he opened the flaps and saw all of their framed photos. He set one or two pictures of himself and Jean on their dresser.

An uncomfortable growl came from his stomach. He was so busy all morning that he’d forgotten to eat. Luckily he’d heard Jean moving around in the kitchen, and the scent of garlic and tomatoes was starting to fill the air. Taking the remaining pictures to put in the living room, Marco mumbled the words to the rest of his song as he bound down the stairs.

He looked up from shifting through the frames and he was taken back for a second. Jean stood in front of the stove, stirring a spoon around in a pan. He was also stark naked other than a ‘kiss the chef’ apron. Marco quickly got over the initial shock and raised a devious brow. “Jean, you _do_ know I got you that as a joke, right?”

“So? I can be naked in my own house.” he said proudly.

“ _Our_ house.” Marco crossed the room and pressed his lips to Jean’s neck before looking down at the sauce. “I told you I’d cook today.”

Jean shrugged and put the spoon to the side before turning around and wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck. “I figured I’d leave the heavy lifting to you.”

“I appreciate it.” Marco rolled his eyes and Jean gave him a quick peck before going back to the sauce.

“Hey, did you unpack everything for the kitchen?”

“I think so, why?”

“I think one of us left a knife in one of the boxes. I noticed the rack is missing one.”

Marco glanced at the knife rack beside the sink. “Hm…I’ll have a look tomorrow.”

Jean hummed in agreement. “Give this like twenty minutes and it’ll be done.”

“Don’t forget, we bought the dining table for more than decoration.” Marco said as he went to the fridge and pulled out a water bottle.

“That’s why I wore the apron. Thirsty?” Jean teased with a wink.

Marco snorted and took a sip. “Always.” He picked up the photo frames and headed toward the front room.

“I’m wearing this to dinner!” Jean called.

“You better!” Marco replied from the next room, making the blonde snicker as he brought the spoon to his lips.

 

 

Jean was lounging on the couch, flicking through the channels. The flat screen was currently balancing on two moving boxes surrounded by peanut foam in case it fell. He would hang it up tomorrow. Soon the commercials became the shows in the form of infomercials. Jean rubbed his eyes and checked his watch. It was past midnight and he had work in six hours. He groaned as he rolled off the couch and stretched out. After he turned the TV off and set the remote down, he flipped the lights off and headed toward the stairs. Half way up, he heard something hit the floor in the kitchen. It sounded small and he could have left it there, but he knew he would only trip over it in the morning.

Jean sighed and flipped the light back on before he trudged back down the stairs and went into the kitchen. He looked around the room, circling the island as he scanned the floor. He came up with nothing. His finger was on the light switch when he heard another small snap and turned around. Jean turned around and saw the basement door slightly open. He recalled taking the trash out earlier, so he assumed Marco had gotten a new one. The house was on the older side, so it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to have a door that refused to catch. A few tries later, Jean shut the door securely and left one of the dimmer lights on before heading up to the bedroom.

Marco was already asleep. He was propped up against the headboard, head lolled to the side and a book in his lap. Jean slid the book out of his hands and placed it on the nightstand then turned off the light. Instead of taking the courtesy of walking around to his side of the bed, Jean took it upon himself to crawl over his boyfriend and plop down on his side to face him.

“Was that necessary?” Marco grumbled, remaining still.

“Yes.” Jean waited patiently for Marco to rouse enough to scooch down and turn his back to him so that he could wrap his arms around the brunette. He rested his chin on a freckled shoulder and sighed, ticking the other’s skin. “I gotta fix that basement door before it drives me nuts.”

Marco breathed a laugh and pressed his back into Jean’s chest, earning himself a tight squeeze. “Speaking of the basement, I saw a mouse. It’s probably just the one, though.”

“We bought quite the dream house.” Jean chuckled, leaving a trail of kisses up and down his boyfriend’s shoulder.

“It’s a dream house to me.”

“You think I was joking?” Jean asked and switched from kissing to nuzzling his neck. “We’ll fix it up and really make it ours.” He tilted his head and nipped Marco’s ear, “I’ll even wear the apron.”

Marco turned his head to laugh into the pillow and grasped Jean’s hands, which Jean splayed so they could entwine their fingers, and soon enough they fell asleep.

 

**_October 5, 2014_ **

 

Marco had just come home from a shift at the bookstore when he found Jean in the kitchen. He was on his knees and trying to fix the hinge on the basement door, brows furrowed with concentration and obvious frustration. Marco crossed the room and ran his fingers through his hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“How long have you been at it?”

“Three hours.” Jean said, followed by a curse as the hinge loosened instead of staying in the door.

Marco sighed dramatically. “My future husband can’t even fix a door.”

“I’ll learn by the time we’re married.”

“Then you’d better start studying.” He playfully tapped the blonde’s head and went into the living room. Even before moving in together, Marco liked to put on the TV for background noise. The remote wasn’t on the table as usual so he checked under and around the couch and tables. “Where’d you put the remote?”

There was a pause and Marco heard him swear as a piece of the hinge fell off. “It should be on the table.”

“Which table?”

“Geez, why do we have so many? The big one!”

Marco searched around again and sighed, walking over to the TV and using it manually. He flipped over to the news and went back into the kitchen to take his turn cooking.

“Did you find it?”

Marco shook his head and Jean made puzzled sound. “Looks like we’re resorting back to the olden days until we either find it or get a new one.”

“Awesome.” Jean smiled and got back to fixing the door. “I still haven’t found that knife, either. Maybe our serial killer neighbor took it.”

“That’s impossible.”

“What, him being a serial killer?”

“No, him taking _that_ knife when we have the unused Rachael Ray set.” Marco rolled up his sleeves and leaned over the counter to peek at Jean. “Why don’t you just read the instructions?”

“ _Because_ , Marco, it didn’t come with…oh.” Jean’s face tinted pink when he saw the folded up instructions partially out of the box.

When he reached down for it, the mouse Marco recognized from yesterday squeaked and ran out of the box. Jean shouted and fell back on his ass to basically crab walk away from it. Marco bent forward and held his stomach as he laughed hard enough that no sound came out. It took an hour to capture it and Jean let it go in the backyard.

 

**_October 14, 2014_ **

****

**12:50a.m.**

 

Marco ran his fingers through his hair and blinked up at the ceiling. Taking a deep breath and the blonde clinging to him unconsciously hummed against his chest. He rolled his head to look at the clock and ran his hand down his face. He closed his eyes and listened to Jean’s slow breaths until he fell back asleep.

 

**2:19a.m.**

 

For the second time, Marco had woken up. He ran his hand up and down Jean’s arm. By some chance a while back, he found that the Birch tree scented soap Jean used was just as good as chamomile. Marco turned his head and winced, feeling a sudden stiffness in his neck. He had to quit falling asleep sitting up almost every night.

 

**3:00a.m.**

 

This time, Marco refused to open his eyes. He remained in his waking position, which happened to be Jean spooning him as he always ended up doing at some point while they slept. Sleep didn’t come easy that night.

Or the next night, or the next.

 

 

**_October 27, 2014_**

 

Jean shuffled around the kitchen to make his second cup of coffee. For anyone else, nine in the morning was way too early to be awake on a Saturday, but for Jean it was like hibernating. After his third cup he was energized enough to get some things done, his priority was to bleach his hair. Although Marco liked the grown-out-roots look, it wasn’t his thing, and it was time to get the job done.

So he wouldn’t disturb Marco with the pungent chemicals, he set up in the first floor bathroom. He took his ring off and set it on the counter beside his empty mug, and then he put some music on his phone and got to bleaching and playing his air drums.

 

Marco groaned when the sun shone directly in his face. He’d gotten a rounded total of two hours of sleep until the sun began to rise. Only then did his brain finally shut down. He stretched his legs out and reflexively arched his back. A sharp pain made him cry out and recoil in on himself. The pain was radiating through his spine and he clung onto a pillow, whimpering into it until it was bearable.

Forty-five minutes later Marco was finally able crawled out of bed and lugged himself downstairs.

 

“Good morning, sunshine.” Jean sang as he walked out of the bathroom, rough drying his hair with a towel. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Marco. “You look awful.”

“I feel awful.” Marco rasped in his morning voice. He poured a cup of coffee and sat at the island to sprawl his upper half across the granite.

Jean circled around and put his elbows on the cold surface. He leaned over Marco’s shoulder and buried his face in dark hair. “Still not getting any sleep?”

“M-m.” Marco shut his eyes and sighed. He could feel the bags under his eyes and the stiffness in his bones. “’S probably just a pattern I have to break. Sometimes when I throw my sleep off for one night I get stuck that way.” He mumbled into his arm.

Jean hummed and bit the corner of his lip. Even if that were the case, he didn’t like seeing Marco so exhausted. He soothingly slid his hand up the brunette’s back and to his neck. Marco yelped and jolted up off the table.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jean sputtered, withdrawing his hand and stepping back out of fear of hurting him again. “I thought I was-”

Marco shivered off the pain and waved away Jean’s apology. “No, no, you’re fine. It’s just…I don’t know, lately my neck’s felt like one big knot that I can’t ease it because it’s so sensitive.”

“How come you haven’t told me?”

“I haven’t been sleeping in the best positions.”

“You haven’t been sleeping period.” Jean took a wary step forward. “Mind if I look?”

Marco took a gulp of his coffee and blinked slowly in response. Nodding his head would be too much. He listened as Jean came closer and closed his heavy eyes. Cold air hit his back when Jean lifted his shirt, and just as quickly it dropped and the blonde gasped.

“Shit, Marco…” Jean lifted his shirt again to study the bruise stemming from the nape of his neck to where his shoulders began. He stopped his hand before he touched it. Instead, his fingers hovered over the darkened skin. He could barely see the freckles in some spots. That definitely wasn’t there yesterday. Jean moved away and tossed the towel over the back of a chair before sprinting to the hall closet.

“What is it?” Marco asked with concern, more for Jean’s reaction than what he imagined he saw.

Jean returned with their jackets and winter boots. “I’m taking you to the hospital.” He said, shoving his arms through the sleeves. “Stand up.”

“You’re not even fully dressed. I’m fine, Jean.” Marco said quietly, nonetheless obeying. Jean was careful to avoid touching the bruise as he put on Marco’s jacket.

“I’ll believe that when I get a professional’s opinion. Boots.”

Marco was getting nervous. The only other time he’d seen Jean so rattled was when his mom had a stroke, and that was years ago. He stepped into his boots and let Jean lead him to his car.

 

They arrived at Trost Hospital four hours ago and had been sitting in the waiting room of the E.R. the entire time. Jean was long past his patience threshold. He’d gone up to the check-in desk several times per hour, hounding the nurses with questions of why it was taking so long to be seen.

Jean muffled an agitated growl and headed back to where Marco sat. His hands were stuffed in his coat pockets as he slouched in the chair made of plastic and metal. And he looked exhausted. Jean had noticed his paling skin and dark circles, even his slowly progressing weight loss, but Marco would always say he was fine. Jean hadn’t stopped mentally kicking himself since that morning.

He sat down next to Marco and leaned back, his leg already jittering up and down. Marco rested his hand on his knee and Jean glanced at him. If it didn’t hurt him, Jean would wrap his arms around him and hold him until the pain went away.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” Marco mumbled.

Jean looked down at his hand and cursed. “I forgot I took it off before I did my hair.”

“Marco Bodt?” The couple turned to see a nurse holding a clip board and scanning the room. He noticed them when Jean jumped up. “The doctor will see you now.”

“Fuckin’ better.” Jean grumbled low enough that no one could hear.

“Hey, it’s not his fault.” Okay, maybe no one but Marco.

 

Two hours, eight vials of blood, one I.V. bag, and one hundred blood pressure counts later, they were still in one of the rooms with no sign of the doctor that was supposedly ready to see them. The TV was on, but neither had been watching it. Marco had fallen asleep as soon as he lay down on the bed, and stayed that way through the tests. Jean had turned the light off so the only light came from the hall. He was halfway on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms as he held Marco’s hand and watched his steady breaths.

“Mr. Kirschtein?” someone asked in a hushed voice.

Jean lifted his head and took a deep breath to shake the fatigue and noticed the doctor standing in the doorway. He was a tall man, blonde, and he looked like he’d been there longer than they had. Jean nodded and the doctor walked in, closing the door behind him and shutting out the buzzing noises from the hall. He kept the light off as well, using the small light by the counter to read his board.

“I’m Doctor Smith. First let me apologize for such a long wait. Friday nights we’re always swamped.”

Jean gave him a curt nod. He wanted answers, not small talk.

Dr. Smith lifted the top paper on the clipboard and skimmed the second. “Marco’s blood pressure and heart rate are perfect. We ran quite a few tests and those came back fine as well.”

Jean was sitting on the edge of his seat, still half on the bed, waiting for him to continue.

Dr. Smith hung the clipboard on the end of the bed and glanced at Marco. “He was a little dehydrated and has a case of anemia, which is likely contributing to his fatigue and bruising. Really there’s nothing wrong with him that can’t be cured at home.”

Jean blinked at him once, then again. “Can I talk to you outside?”

“Of course.”

He closed the door behind them once they were back in the noisy hallway and turned to the doctor. He was fuming on the inside, and was going to try his best to keep it that way. “Tell me again what the results were.”

Dr. Smith sighed. He wasn’t new to the frustration about to come. “Sometimes symptoms seem a lot more severe than they are. Has he been under any stress lately?”

“He’s barely slept, eaten, _moved_ the past couple of weeks. He has a bruise the size of Texas on his back, and you’re asking me if he’s stressed out?”

“Mr. Kirschtein,”

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Mr. Ki-”

If looks were daggers, Dr. Smith would have been dead, brought back to life, and then killed again. He glanced through the small window at Marco. “Go to a pharmacy and get some iron and potassium supplements. I’m writing him a prescription for a low grade painkiller as well. Let him rest for a few days. No work, no heavy lifting, and no strenuous activity. If there are no sign of progress within the next two weeks bring him in to my personal office where you won’t have to wait so long.” He pulled out a notepad and wrote down the contact information before ripping it off and holding it out to Jean.

Jean took the page and skimmed it quick, his eyes stopping on a word. “You wrote down your office is in Stohess.”

“That’s correct.”

“That’s an hour and a half away on a good traffic day.”

“Chances are you won’t have to travel that far. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Dr. Smith gave Jean a parting nod and headed to his next patient.

He sighed and tucked the paper into his pocket before heading back into the room. Marco was still sleeping comfortably. Jean went back to his place beside the bed. He took Marco’s hand in his and pressed his lips firmly to his wrist. He hoped Dr. Smith was right.

 

When they returned home, Jean sent him straight to bed. Marco refused at first, yet again claiming he was fine, but he fell asleep in minutes.

Once he was all settled in, Jean went downstairs. He’d left in such a hurry that he left the extra hair lightener on the bathroom sink, and Marco would end him if it got on anything. He made sure the bathroom was spotless before going to the kitchen, deciding he’d make coffee while deciding what else to do with his day while Marco slept. The mug he had used that morning was still on the counter, and Jean remembered putting his ring beside it. He picked up the mug and paused, staring at the empty counter.

“I could have sworn I put it…” He scanned the counter and the island, the bathroom sink, the floors, and any other room he’d gone in that morning. He took deep breaths and returned to the kitchen. “Calm down, Jean. You’re just looking too hard, that’s all.” He heard a creak and looked up to see the basement door was ajar. He scoffed and walked to the other side of the room, grumbling to himself, “Stupid paper instructions never work.”

He pushed the door until it clicked shut and watched it for a moment, daring it to open again before deciding it was safe to check the living room again. The familiar creak of the door reached his ears from the next room, and Jean stormed back into the kitchen. He _knew_ he fixed it. Marco saw him do it. He whipped the basement door open and flicked the light on to evaluate the door and what might was making it so irritating. The hinges were perfect, as was the doorframe. The knob was sturdy, so he wasn’t getting what the issue was.

He heard a ‘ _clink’_ at the bottom of the steps and turned the light on. There, on the very last step, was his ring. Jean sighed with relief and went to retrieve it, calling himself an idiot the whole time. He must have knocked it over when he was in a rush and somehow it rolled down there. He picked it up with a content hum and looked around the room. It was kind of creepy with how dim and cold it was, but that was pretty much every standard basement.

He didn’t spare it another thought before bounding up the stairs.


	2. Get Well Soon

**November 4, 2014**

A few days had gone by and Marco was starting to feel better. The bruise was virtually gone along with the pain. He would still wake up throughout the night, but less than before, and even his appetite was coming back. Jean was on him about following all the doctor’s instructions to the T, and even though Marco felt fit enough to return to work, his boyfriend wasn’t having it.

Marco was home alone, laying on the couch and watching rerun after rerun. What he would give to go back to work or class where he could be useful instead of feeling like a couch potato. Oh well. He reached over his head to the side table and grabbed the remote before clicking through the channels. Finding a show that was partially interesting, he dropped it by his side and shifted to get comfortable.

It took him a moment or two for it to register. He looked down again and picked up the remote. Had it been on that table the whole time? It definitely wasn’t there that morning. He and Jean had searched every square inch of the room to no avail, yet it was right there next to him. Jean might have found it some other time afterward. He decided not to think it over too hard. The point was, it was found and he would no longer have to walk five feet to turn up the volume. He sunk back into the couch and pulled the throw blanket over himself. Slowly but surely, he slipped into sleep.

 

The familiar small ‘ _click’_ of the front door being shut stirred Marco from his nap. Not quite ready to wake up yet, he remained in his position and let his mind stay hazy. He’d greet Jean in a little while. Just a little more sleep…

Heavy footsteps came slowly down the hall and into the living room, stopping at the foot of the couch. Marco could feel his presence looming over him and sighed. “Welcome home,” he rasped, his face still half buried in the crook of his arm. The TV turned off and Marco peeped one sleep-heavy eye open. It was dark enough that he could only make out vague silhouettes of the furniture. If he wasn’t so lethargic he would have checked the time.

“How was your day?” he asked, not even sure if he’d be conscious enough to retain anything Jean might say. A long silence had Marco drifting back to sleep, but it was slightly uncomfortable with Jean standing over him in silence. “Bad?”

There was a long, drawn out exhale and his footsteps went back out into the hall, then up the stairs. Marco frowned and slowly stretched himself out in a cat-like fashion. Jean’s day must have been worse than bad and there was Marc, sprawled out on a couch and living a cushy lifestyle for a week. Marco sat up slowly so he wouldn’t get too dizzy and peered over at the part of the staircase visible from where he sat, catching Jean’s figure take the last steps to the upstairs before he was out of view.

He made his way to the bottom of the stairs and leaned on the end of the thick wooden railing. “Jean?” he called, voice still gruff from sleep, “Hun, are you okay?”

He waited a moment, and when he, yet again, didn’t receive a response, Marco trudged up the stairs. Halfway up he heard their bedroom door slam shut and he winced. It must have been a _horrible_ day. He picked up the pace a little until he was outside of their bedroom and knocked softly, putting his ear close to the door. It was quiet enough to hear a pin drop.

“Jean?”

 ***

 

Jean hummed along to the radio as he turned into the driveway, a small smile on his lips. He couldn’t wait to see Marco and tell him all the stupid and unintentionally destructive things Connie and Eren did at work that day. He’d also realized—meaning Sasha verbally beat him into comprehending—that it would be more beneficial if he and Marco had a dinner that didn’t comprise of chicken stock and ring shaped noodles. Jean was a thorough believer that it cured everything from colds to back pain.

He walked up the front steps and saw the only light on was the porch’s, choosing to shrug it off. “I’m home!” he called, shouldering the door open as his hands were occupied by two large take-out bags. He might have gone a _little_ overboard with the take out, but he was sure most of it would be gone by the end of the night. Jean shut the door and put the bags down to flip the lights on. “I got a shit ton of food from that Thai place you like!” A shift in the floorboards caught his attention and he looked to the top of the staircase, smiling warmly at the sight of his boyfriend. “Hey, you.”

Marco slowly came down the stairs, staring at Jean with a mix of scrutiny and confusion. “What are you doing down here?”

Jean glanced back at the door. “It’s usually how we get inside our house.”

The brunette’s paused and his brows came close together, “I just saw you go upstairs.”

Jean’s eyes widened slightly and his smile vanished. “Me?” Marco nodded and Jean looked past him and up the stairs then back to him. “Are you feeling okay, babe?” Marco didn’t answer with words, instead pressing his lips together. Jean sighed and shook his head. “I’ll go see.”

Marco followed close behind Jean as he ascended to the second floor hall. He motioned at the closed door for Jean to go first. The blonde carefully opened the door and flipped the light switch. The room was empty. He looked over his shoulder at Marco, stubbornness written all over his freckled face. Jean turned back to the room and stepped inside. He checked every nook and cranny and came up empty handed.

Marco’s confused expression deepened with a frown. “I’m telling you, Jean, I heard-I _saw_ you. I was sleeping on the couch and I heard you come home and-”

“Wait,” Jean held his hand up for the other to pause, “You were asleep?”

“Yes, but that was _before_. You came in the front door and turned off the TV and kind of just…stood there and then went upstairs.”

Jean stared at him, trying to make sense of it. Marco was probably half asleep and dreamt the whole thing, but Jean didn’t want to upset him any further. “Assuming we live until tomorrow, I’ll make a call to install a security alarm.” He cupped Marco’s chin and smiled reassuringly. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” He breathed a heavy sigh. In actuality there wasn’t much more either of them could do. “Okay.”

Jean gave him a quick peck on the lips and headed back toward the stairs. “In the meantime, I have a hundred pounds of Thai food waiting for us downstairs.”

Marco would have to give it a rest for the moment, settling for crinkling his nose with contemplation, “Did you get the kind with the-”

“Yes!” Jean grinned, grabbing his hand and running down the stairs, letting go for a moment to get the bags by the door.

**November 8, 2014**

 

**2:07a.m.**

 

Marco inhaled deep through his nose and cracked an eye open. Streams of moonlight leaked through the drying autumn leaves and into their bedroom, giving most of the room a hint of light. Marco lifted his disheveled head and his eyes trailed around the room until they lowered to Jean. Sometimes he envied how deep of a sleeper the blonde could be.

That made him wonder what woke him up in the first place. He couldn’t think much past it possibly being the tree just outside their window or the heat kicking on. He didn’t remember hearing anything that might have though. Without sparing it another thought, Marco laid his head back down on Jean’s chest and repositioned himself beside his boyfriend.

 

**3:27a.m.**

 

Jean stretched with a low, hoarse sound and turned on his side. He reached out to grasp his boyfriend and curl against his back, only to find his hand was hitting the mattress and not a certain freckled body. Jean opened his eyes to the empty space beside him and frowned. Marco wasn’t there, only his warm indent. Figuring he was using he bathroom, Jean huddled under the blankets more to stave off the hypothermia until his furnace of a boyfriend returned.

 

**4:15a.m.**

 

Too cold.

That was all Jean could think when he woke up for the second time. He cracked an eye open and stared confusedly at the vacant spot where Marco should have been. Sitting up, Jean reached over and patted the mattress. It was cold and the indent was gone.

“Marco,” He whispered, glancing around the room. “Marco,” he called again, pausing for any sound. Pushing off the blankets and sliding out of bed, he looked around the room for any sign of the other. He scratched his head and let his thoughts and consciousness gather.

A drawn out squeak of a floorboard from the hall caught his attention. Jean pushed himself to his feet, shuffled across the room, and opened the door. He peered down the hall and walked out until he stood at the top of the stairs before taking a few steps down.

“Marco?” The small kitchen light gave him some visual of the downstairs. For a moment, he thought he saw a Marco-sized shape go through the living room. “Are you down there?”

The floor creaked again, that time behind him. The hair on his arms stood up and a slight chill ran through him. Jean glanced over his shoulder and felt his jaw clench when he noticed the bedroom door slightly sway. He backed up the few steps and pushed the bedroom door open. Nothing was out of place, other than the empty bed.

Huffing, Jean raised his voice from a whisper to an octave just under his regular speaking level as he paced to one of the closets. “Babe, quit messing around. Where are you?” He slid the closet open and glanced around before closing it.

Behind him, the bathroom door slowly began to sway again. Heart already racing, Jean turned around and inhaled sharply.

Marco was standing behind the door, his back to Jean and his forehead resting against the wall. “Marco?” Jean whispered softly and reached out, putting his hands on each of his shoulders. He gently eased Marco away from the wall and turned him around. Marco’s eyes were barely open, not focused on anything in particular, just as his expression was blank. It sent shivers down Jean’s spine. He waved his hand in front of Marco’s face. “What are you doing over here?”

He wrapped his arm around Marco’s shoulders and slowly walked him over to the inviting blankets. “C’mon, let’s get you back in bed,” He guided the brunette into their bed and draped the covers over him before going back to close both of the doors. For a moment he paused. The image of the dark figure he supposed he saw went through his head, and he wondered if that was what Marco claimed he saw days ago. The thought was gone as quickly as it came and he was back in bed to slot against his lightly snoring Marco. 

 

“Sleepwalking?” Marco snorted and wrapped a towel around his waist. “Never in my life.”

“You sure did last night.” Jean smirked smugly and took a sip of his coffee, wincing slightly at the heat. “It was kinda creepy.”

“Excuse me for unconsciously weirding you—Jean, you get that on the bed and I’ll make you clean it with a toothbrush.”

The blonde’s grin returned and his eyes moved up and down Marco’s body. His dark hair was still dripping from his shower droplets rolling down the curve of his back, the dips and rises of his chest, down the dark hair trailing down, past his navel, only to be cut off by the towel placed there. Jean licked his lips and willed himself not to reached over and rip the towel off of him. “And if I were to spill it on myself?”

“Well for starters,” Marco held up an orange shirt and tilted his head, “you would probably have second degree burns.”

Jean chuckled and shamelessly watched him dress. “For real though, it was... I don’t know. Like you materialized out of nowhere within the minute I was out of the room.”

“Stop over exaggerating.”

Jean set his coffee on the side table and crawled to the end of the bed to wrap his arms around Marco’s waist. “I’m not making fun, love. You really don’t remember anything?”

Marco scratched Jean’s hair and hummed in thought. “I woke up a couple of times then went right back to sleep. That’s it.”

Jean let go of him and sat up, his brows pulling together. “Are you not sleeping well again?”

Marco just shrugged and sat down on the edge of the mattress. “Moping around internet surfing all day makes my mind restless. It’ll get better once I go back to work and finish catching up on my classes. I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re not up for Connie’s tonight I can-”

“I’m _fine_ , Jean.” Marco bowed his head to rest on Jean’s shoulder, “I promise.”

Jean bit at his lower lip and looked Marco over. “Alright…but if you change your mind-”

“ _Jean_.”

Jean clamped his mouth shut and shuffled back to finish his coffee.

 

 ***

 

“Connie! Connie, Marco’s here!” Sasha shouted excitedly and stood on the tips of her toes to hug him. It had been less than two weeks since they’d seen him, but that might as well have been two months in Sasha and Connie time.

“No shit?” Connie appeared around the corner and grinned. “Marco, my main man! How are you?”

“Hey,” Marco said, giving them his dazzling smile, “Sorry, I was a little under the weather.”

“Leave it to Marco to apologize for getting sick.” Connie sighed.

“Did you two completely forget I exist?” Jean asked flatly.

“Oh hush, we see you all the time. Come inside,” Sasha said, leading them in and returning to coddling Marco. “Has Jean been taking care of you? Is he feeding you?”

“Wh-of course he does,” he and Sasha went ahead of them and into the living room while Jean and Connie followed behind, making a short stop in the kitchen for some drinks.

“Sash already has the fire going. She’s wanted to do this indoor s’more couples thing ever since it got cold enough.” Connie let out a strained sigh as he and Jean took a seat on the larger sofa. Sasha had Marco sitting closer to the fire on a floor cushion beside hers, both chatting amongst themselves. “He looks better than the last time I saw him.”

Jean nodded and feigned a smile. Yes, Marco was better. However those early hours of the morning didn’t sit well with him. Jean vowed to himself to watch him more closely. After all, Marco was the type to hide his own wellbeing for the sake of others, even Jean if he tried hard enough.

Connie popped open his beer and watched Jean from the corner of his eye for a moment before looking ahead at their significant others seated on the floor. Without looking directly at him, Jean could sense his friend’s growing suspicion, and was thankful when he didn’t say anything about it.

Jean looked around the room and soon noticed something—or everything—out of place. Floor cushions, two short tree trunks with a plate of glass which he guessed was a supposed to be a coffee table, pots of plants on randomly places wall shelves, and so on. “Uh…Connie?”

Connie pursed his lips and took another swig of beer. “Slowly…slowly but surely,” Connie turned to the blonde who bit back a laugh when he saw the hint of despair in his eyes, “You too will succumb to the life of beige and white domestication.”

“Nah,” Jean opened his own bottle and smirked, “Marco likes brown and green.”

“Earth tones are earth tones. You’ll see. Give it a few more months and your living room will look like a yoga studio.”

“I think it looks great.” Marco said over his shoulder, leaving Jean no choice but to nod in agreement. He learned a long time ago not to argue with Marco about his personal style.

“Whiiiiiipped.” Connie leaned over and whispered. Jean swatted him away. He was right, Jean was completely whipped, but it still annoyed him when his friends called him out on it. He preferred the term _devoted_.

“Says the guy with trees for a table.”

“They’re environmentally friendly.” They shared a long, silent moment sipping their beers and avoiding any further discussion about home furniture.

It was Jean’s turn to inspect his friend’s odd behavior. Connie always had something to talk about. Connie actually did _all_ of the talking but it filled the silence. “You seem way off today. How are things with you and Sasha?” Jean asked, keeping his voice low.

“The same as things were the last time you saw us. Why?”

Jean shrugged and lightly shook his beer. A second round was in order and he stood, motioning for his friend to follow.

“Connie, can you get the stuff for the s’mores while you’re in there?” Sasha asked sweetly.

“Yeah, sweets. Anything else?”

“Nope, that’s it.”

Jean muffled a laugh and mimicked Connie’s response in a nasally voice, earning him a ‘friendly’ punch to the spine. Once they were in the kitchen, Jean leaned back against the counter and crossed his arms, watching Connie dig the needed ingredients out of the pantry. “Well?”

Connie sighed and turned around, not without glancing to see if Sasha and Marco were still in the living room before stepping closer. “I’m going to ask Sasha to marry me.”

“It’s about time!” Jean said with a wide grin.

 “Shut the fuck up dude!” he whispered harshly. “You know firsthand how expensive rings are.”

“I helped you pick it out two years ago.”

“Yeah, well,” Connie trailed off and looked over at the box of graham crackers. It wasn’t like him to look so distressed. “What if she says no?”

“She won’t say no.” Jean said flatly. That much was true. Neither of them ever mentioned the word marriage, and they didn’t have to for their group of friends to see they’d end up getting hitched. “What’s your next excuse? I can do this all day.”

“I don’t want to fuck it up.”

That one took Jean a moment. Connie was anything but graceful with words and moves. He was half the hot mess he was before he met Sasha, and that said a thing or two. “Even if you do, the worst she’ll do is laugh _then_ say yes.” The shorter man contemplated it for a long moment and nodded.

“What are you guys talking about?” Both jumped and Jean whirled around to see Marco standing at the kitchen entrance and a questioning look in his eyes.

“Noth-”

“Connie’s gonna propose to Sasha.”

Marco’s eyes widened and he stared at the two for a moment. “I was beginning to think it would never happen.” Connie’s face dropped to a frown and Marco smiled kindly. “When?”

His expression changed again, his face turning red with embarrassment and he laughed timidly as he scratched his head. “Wednesday. I’m taking her to Hershey Park.”

“That’s great!” Marco exclaimed, still keeping his voice down.

“Now all you have to do is not choke.”

Connie raised his hand to swat Jean upside his head, then a certain redhead walked in. “Choke on what? We haven’t even started eat-aha!” Everyone went silent and owl-eyed, watching her obliviously reach around Connie, give him a kiss on the cheek as she grabbed the food and walked to the doorway. She paused and slowly turned around, carefully scanning the men in the room. “Are you three scheming something?” They shook their heads in unison and she gave them another once-over before shrugging and going back to the living room.

The rest of the night was spent drinking, eating s’mores, corny horror movies, and more drinking.  And as usual, Marco was the one to drive them home. Jean sang loud and drunkenly the entire way home.

 

**November 10, 2014**

 

Marco dragged his nails down Jean’s back, leaving trails of bright red on the pale skin, his moan muffled when Jean caught his lips in a kiss. Jean picked up his pace and reveled in the way he could make Marco fall apart. He would take his time working him up with his hands, his mouth, with his throaty praises. He loved watching the faces Marco made. His eyes would glaze over, heavy-lidded with complete bliss, his brows furrowed as he took Jean again and again. He loved how his lips parted with every soft moan he made, or how his head tossed back and his eyes squeezed shut when Jean gave him what he needed.

Marco was shaking under him, crossing his ankles tight around the blonde’s waist to bring him deeper. Jean didn’t deny him anything. He bottomed out, his chest almost parallel to Marco’s as he made quick, deep thrusts. Marco keened loudly, followed by breathy chants of his name and ‘ _pleasepleaseplease’_ as he spilled hot between them. Jean tumbled right after, still easing his boyfriend down from his high and whispering sweet words into the crook of his neck.

After a few minutes of catching their breath, Jean peppered Marco’s face with quick kisses before rolling off of him and sighing loudly with satisfaction. He opened his eyes and turned his head, smiling at the ruined brunette. He absently discarded his condom while Marco wiped himself off and tossing the messy sheet and shifted around to allow Marco to curl up against him.

Jean kissed his forehead and ran his hand up and down the other’s arm, humming softly, “You’re still shaking, babe. You okay?”

Marco hummed back in response, too tired to bother opening his eyes. The blonde chuckled at the sound of his scratchy voice and pulled him closer so he could burrow his face into the mess of dark hair. Jean closed his eyes and breathed him in, the cedar and citrusy scent filling his head and carrying him off to join his lover in sleep.

Marco was going to be okay, Jean told himself, as he had been the since the other night. Maybe it really was nothing. Maybe in another week Marco would go to work and class, and whatever that illness was would clear up. He would be Marco again.

 

**3:00 a.m.**

 

Gasping loudly, Marco sat up, clutching his shirt for dear life. He struggled to catch his breath and quiet the desperate wheezing his constricted throat just wouldn’t let out. He looked next to him and found Jean sprawled out, asleep and snoring lightly. Marco swallowed in an attempt to relieve his dry throat and glanced around the dark room. A shiver passed through him and he realized he’d woken up in a cold sweat that had soaked through his pillowcase and sheets where he’d been laying. He frowned, reminding himself to do laundry when he got back from class the next day, but for the moment, he had to dry himself off and get replacements.

Marco got out of bed and tip-toed into their bathroom. He flipped the dim light over the shower on and peered into the mirror. Other than his massive bedhead and bloodshot eyes he was slightly pale, but he wasn’t surprised considering how he woke up. He turned on the sink and went to the towel closet while he let the pipes warm up. He splashed warm water on his face and looked into the mirror again, his eyes slowly widening. His lips were turning blue. He quickly brought his fingers to his mouth and started rubbing. He wasn’t cold—at least he didn’t _feel_ cold, and it was starting to unnerve him.

He was getting nauseas and shaky while he breathed deep to calm down, hoping it would bring color back to his face as well. He switched the temperature of the water to make it warmer and splashed his face again. He took the towel and rubbed then held it there, nervous to see if it had gotten any worse. Finally looking up into the mirror again, he froze.

There was someone standing in the shower.

“Jean?” he whispered, his heart pounding in his ears. Jean wouldn’t go as far as pulling a prank on him so late at night, would he? The figure didn’t move or respond, and Marco quietly said his name again.

It couldn’t be a home intruder. He was there when the alarm was installed. He _knew_ it worked.

He didn’t dare tear his stare away and felt around the sink. He grabbed the heavy bronze cloth stand and breathed slow and he turned around. Whoever it was hadn’t moved an inch until he took a step closer. Suddenly there was fast breathing, some sounding like sobbing, and he could make out the outline of their shoulders trembling.

“H-hello?” Marco whispered, reaching out to grab the shower curtain. The person gasped and he paused. They were a lot smaller than Jean, and with every whimper Marco was sure it wasn’t him. He carefully drew the curtain to the side and jumped back.

It was a woman.

And she looked frightened to death. After the initial shock of finding a person cowering in his bathroom, he noted her appearance. Her eyes were wide and brown, her cheeks splattered with freckles, and her skin olive had a grey under tone to it. For a moment, Marco had the disturbing thought that she was related to him.

Her small body shivered violently and she sank down to the floor, sobbing uncontrollably and rasping for help.

“Hey,” Marco tried to sound harmless despite his own shaky breaths. He lowered the stand to the floor and crouched down to her level, “I’m not going to hurt you. What’s your name?”

A strong chill ran down his spine and her hands shot up to her head. Then she was clawing at her dark hair hard enough to draw blood, her cries fading as her voice gave.

“H-hey, stop that, you’re hurting yourself,” Marco cautiously reached his hand out to her.

Then she went silent.

Her head slowly raised and her expression became vacant, yet tears still continued to stream down her face. Both of her hands slid down from her hair to the nape of her neck, and all Marco could see was red as she dug her nails in deep enough to tear away flesh.

He stumbled backwards, barely catching his balance on the sink. Her empty and unblinking eyes were glued to Marco’s and his to hers as he looked on in horror. She started rocking side to side and blood began to pool down her back and puddle around her, and she dug in again. He heard something crack and he head jerked to the side.

“ _Stopstopstop_! _Jean_!” Marco was shouting and his back was crushing into the sink as his mind screamed for him to _run_.

“Marco?”

He barely made out the footsteps pounding across the bedroom or the door swing open. Her mouth opened and a dark substance he’d never seen or smelled before flooded from between her lips.

“Marco!” Jean ran into the bathroom, eyes wide with fear and confusion when he saw his boyfriend backed against a wall screaming at a wall. He grabbed Marco’s arms, and the brunette thrashed for a moment, eyes darting between Jean and the wall.

“She’s th-someone-there’s a woman-”

Jean glanced at the empty shower then back to Marco. “There’s no one there,” He whispered, trying to calm him down. “Shhh, look at me Marco. No one’s there.”

“Jean,” Marco pleaded. He knew what he saw. The last thing he wanted was for Jean to think he’d flown over the cuckoo’s nest.

“Okay,” Jean wrapped his arms around him, pressing his forehead to Marco’s purposely so he couldn’t see whatever it was he was seeing. “They’re gone now, baby. It’s okay, it’s just us.”

Marco shut his eyes tight and tried to wipe out what he’d seen. He let Jean lead him back to their bed, where they sat up and faced one another. Jean looked at him with such a deeply concerned expression that Marco wanted to look away. The blonde ran his hand down his cheek soothingly and pulled him into an embrace again.

“I’m not crazy, Jean.” Marco whispered into the other’s hair. “I know what I saw.”

“I don’t think you’re crazy, baby.” Jean pulled back and gave his boyfriend a small smile. “I’m the crazy one, remember?”

“But you didn’t see.”

Jean didn’t see. He had no idea what shook Marco so badly, and was sure he wouldn’t want to. He truly didn’t think Marco was crazy. He only wished he understood so he could know what to say. He sighed deeply and pressed his lips to his temple. He may not have had the words to soothe Marco, but his soft words promising love and safety had calmed him.

Neither slept that night nor went to work or class the next day. They could barely afford to miss any more work, but Jean couldn’t leave him after that night. Marco begged his way out of a drive to Dr. Smith’s office or the hospital, so Jean made him agree to rest for at least one day and if he wasn’t feeling better, _then_ he would go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter title was clearly pulled out of my dry-humored rear end.  
> I really wish I had a hobby other than torturing my children. I'm a horrible mamma.  
> Thank you for reading, and for your kudos and comments!


	3. Bathwater

 

**November 12, 2014**

 

It was easier for Marco not to speak about the disturbing episode of that woman. The image of her was stuck in his head. The look of sheer terror rattled him to the bone. He saw glimpses of her and her similar face here and there, but he forced it away. He wasn’t crazy. He knew what he saw.

Seeing her was unsettling enough as it was. If he spoke about it, it would only remind him of the vivid details. It was easier to keep it to himself. Not to mention it would probably worry Jean to the brink of death, as if witnessing his boyfriend having what Jean assumed was a major panic attack in the middle of the night wasn’t bad enough. Jean didn’t ask him what happened. He dreaded the sight of Marco in such a terrified state, and talking about something he would rather forget seemed to have the opposite effect of what was intended. 

__

 

Marco had planted himself on a stool behind the kitchen island. He was hunched over, his face buried in his arms. He groaned hoarsely, shifting in his oversized sweater to find a position that didn’t let giant drafts of cold getting in. He was still exhausted from the couple of days before. Being cold and exhausted didn't sit well with him.

He had to be up, though. He had class that afternoon and was set on going. He couldn’t miss any more work or classes. Not only because he was so far behind, but because he didn’t want to drag Jean down too.

A slight weight covered his shoulders, wrapping around him and warming his back. Marco hummed and his muscles relaxed as he slowly sank down onto the hard surface.

“Still sleeping, love?” Jean’s smooth voice vibrated against his shoulder.

He nodded and Jean chuckled as he kissed his cheek and wrapped the blanket he’d cloaked them both in tighter to seal in the heat. They stayed that way for a few minutes; eyes closed, faintly shifting with each slow inhale and exhale, Jean’s cheek resting against his back with his arms strong around him.

And to Marco’s disappointment, Jean breathed deep and separated himself to stand upright. He was kind enough to tuck the thick blanket around Marco and kissed the temple of the brunette’s still-hidden face before circling the island to start making the coffee.

“Can we turn the heat on?” Marco lifted his head and rested his chin on his arms with a small yawn.

Jean raised a brow as he looked over his shoulder. “It is on. You’re that cold?”

“Freezing.”

The blonde leaned across the island and pressed the back of his hand to Marco’s forehead. Marco blinked his dreary eyes and watched Jean’s brows furrow. “You’re temperature feels fine to me.” He pulled his hand away and his features softened. “I’ll turn it up some more.”

“Thank you.” Marco croaked, hiding behind his sleeves again.

“You’ve still got a few hours before class. That’s plenty of time to catch up on some sleep.”

Marco didn’t respond other than the slightest shift of his head, causing Jean to frown. He noticed Marco had been avoiding being in their room by himself, especially their shower, opting to use the downstairs one instead most of the time. He would have found it childish if he hadn’t seen Marco’s terrifying episode. Marco blinked his eyes open at the sound of Jean filling their coffee mugs and watched the blonde walk toward the living room. “Coming?”

Marco sat there for a moment, contemplating just how much he wanted to move. He wasn’t just tired. His body was twice as sore as when he woke up, similar to when a flu is coming on, and making his joints ache like a ninety year old man’s. He wanted that coffee though. He sluggishly slid off of the stool and shuffled behind his boyfriend. Jean sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. Marco sat down and curled up into a cable-knit cocoon, hardly caring as Jean lay back on the couch and pulled him up and onto him until his head was resting on Jean’s chest.

“Sleep.” Jean’s order came out softer than he intended and it made Marco laugh into the covers. “I’ll wake you up before class.”

“Mmm,” Marco shut his eyes and melted into him, focusing on keeping his mind empty.

 

__

 

“Marco,”

“What?!” Marco jolted upright, nearly falling back in his chair if he hadn’t grabbed the desk. His eyes darted around the emptying room until they fell on Armin. He was standing beside him, leaning forward and his hand hovering over his shoulder.

“Class is over. You were out cold. I tried to wake you up a few times during the lecture but you wouldn’t budge.”

Marco sighed and sulked in his chair before he started to gather his things. He smiled weakly at the blonde and stood up. “Thanks anyways, Armin. The point of me coming to class was to keep up and I can’t even stay awake.”

“You have a break before your next class, right?” Marco nodded and followed him down the steps to the door. “My chemistry teacher cancelled class for the day. If you’d like, I could help you catch up.”

Marco brightened a bit at his friend’s suggestion. “You wouldn’t mind?”

“Of course not. Just try to stay awake.”

Marco gave him a genuine smile the second time. “Deal.”

__

 

The library was fairly empty with only a handful of students. Marco and Armin sat in one of the corners by a window, books, folders, and notepads sprawled out across the table. Armin held up a paper and looked it over. He gave one curt nod and put the paper down in front of Marco. “You’ve got it.”

Marco blinked. He’d missed a week’s worth of chemistry yet he was up to date in under an hour. “That was it?”

“Yep.” Armin shrugged and tapped his pile of papers on the table, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. “You’re welcome.”

“I owe you big time, Armin.” Marco stood from the table, pausing when he noticed Armin’s quizzical expression. “What’s up?”

The blonde looked down at the table and back to him. “It isn’t my business, so stop me any time.” Marco slowly sank down into the seat and put his bag down. He didn’t speak, so Armin continued, “Connie and Sasha mentioned you weren’t feeling well and, uh, everyone is kind of worried.”

"Worried about me? There's nothing to worry about."

"It's just that..." Armin pressed his lips together and his brows creased as he thought over whatever it was he was going to say, "With how long you've been gone, and Jean won't tell anyone anything about it which is more concerning...are you really okay?"

“ _I'm_ _fine_.” His sharp tone surprised both of them, and he bit his lip. “I’m sorry. I feel fine, really. Just pulling one too many all-nighters trying to pick up my slack these past few days.”

Armin stared at him, probably one hundred thoughts going through his mind. Armin rose from the table and adjusted the books under his arm. “Well if you need anything,” He motioned to Marco’s bag, letting the sentence hang in the air.

“Thanks again. Well I'd better get going. Lovely calculus awaits me, so let's hope I don’t go MIA again.”

"After calculus? I wouldn't blame you. Later, Marco."

"Later." Marco’s jaw clenched and he realized his hand was balled into a tight white-knuckled fist around his bag’s strap. He hadn’t meant to worry anyone.

 _It’s not any of their business_.

And Jean was worried to the point that others were noticing.

_It’s my fault._

Marco winced as a sharp pain throbbed at the nape of his neck. It went as quickly as it came, and he hurried his way home.

 

__

 

Jean stepped back, a huge grin on his face as he looked over his work. The counter was covered in pastries of all kinds, a tall topsy-turvy cake right in the middle like a window display. He hadn’t put his baking skills to use in months. He took a few culinary classes his first year of college, and although it wasn’t his major he kept baking as his personal indulgence.  As one can only consume so much sugar, he rarely put his hobby to use until the holidays. However, what was supposed to be his warm up had gone overboard.

Oh well. That’s what Connie and Sasha were for.

 

He heard the front door open and close, followed by the hard thump of books hitting the floor. Jean swerved around the dessert tiers and pedestals crowding the island and peeked his head out to look the hall. He smiled faintly, catching Marco inhale deep and close his eyes for a moment. “Hey there.”

Marco opened his eyes to see the upper half of his boyfriend peeping into the hall. “What’d you make?”

Jean looked over his shoulder to name a few things off, and a flash of horror passed over his face. Bowls covered in cake mix and frosting, flour on the counter and floor, pans stacked on the stove top. Maybe Marco wouldn’t notice any of it past the colorful confectioneries.

“What’s this?”

Flinching, Jean turned around with a sheepish grin. “I spaced out.”

Marco scanned the kitchen until meeting Jean’s gaze again. His shoulders dropped with an exasperated sigh and he tilted his head to the side, toward Jean. The corner of his lips curved with a teasing smile. “Well, they aren’t gonna eat themselves”

 

__

 

The kitchen floor wasn't the most comfortable place they could have chosen to pig out, but who cares about physical comfort when they're stuffing their faces with sugar.

“'E're guh-uh may me fah,” Marco say around a mouthful of cake.

Jean snickered and swiped his finger over a cannoli and dabbed it on the tip of Marco's nose. “I promise I won’t make you fat,” he leaned forward, cupping Marco's face in his hand and gently guiding him closer, “and even if you did,” his voice was deeper, lustier in a way that brought a dusting of pink to his cheeks. Jean's seductive smirk switched to a playful grin before he licked the tip of Marco's nose, “I wouldn't fuck you any less.”

Marco's hands flew to Jean's chest, but didn't push him away. “Don't you mean you wouldn’t love me any less?”

“Naturally.” Jean paused for a moment and Marco could see the amusement in his eyes. “ _God_ , just picturing you turns me on.”

“Jean!” _That_ time he pushed him.

Jean snickered and sat back to lean on the side of the island. “I'm kidding, love. Well, not really. Picture it…my hands squeezing your-”

He was cut off when Marco shoved a cookie in his mouth. “Yep, got it.” He chuckled at Jean’s sputtering and took a glance at the still dessert-clad counters. “What got you going in the first place?”

Jean hummed in thought and followed Marco’s gaze. “Dunno. Thanksgiving is coming up and I figured I’d try to impress your mom.”

Marco laughed and swirled his finger around the wrapper securing a tiny cupcake in its place. “You know for a fact my mom adores you.”

“Mmm,” a sly smirk quirked the corner of his lips as he leaned forward again, moving closer until he crawled into Marco’s lap. Jean wrapped his arms around his neck and dropped his head, his breath on Marco’s ear, “but I wouldn’t feel as guilty about nailing you in the next room.”

“Oh my _god_ , Jean, did you take a Viagra or something?”

“What can I say? Dessert gets me going and I’m living with a hottie.”

Marco knew a thing or two about Jean’s… _appetite_. Once it was sparked there was little to no stopping him, however long it took, which was fine because Marco held a solid record of never turning him down. That didn’t mean he couldn’t have some fun of his own.

The brunette picked up the small cake he’d previously been playing with, and with an innocent smile, he smooshed it in his boyfriend’s face. He reeled with laughter, watching Jean’s jaw drop with an exaggerated gasp. “You should see the look on your-ah! _Jean_!” He yelped when Jean came back with his own artillery in the form of an half of a mousse cake. “Okay, so that’s how it’s gonna be.” Marco snickered darkly and reached up and onto the counter, keeping a tier from crashing down on them, but tilting it enough to rain cannolis over his boyfriend.

Jean crossed his arms over his head for protection, but his efforts were in vein as clumps of filling and morsels dotted his skin and clothes. He was taken by surprise again when Marco rolled over, pinning him to the floor by the wrists. His eyes widened at Marco’s devilish grin and, expecting a face-full of sweets, he shut his eyes tight to brace for impact.

However, instead of food, he felt the soft warmth of Marco’s lips move slowly against his, then let out a soft moan when Marco swiped his tongue across his bottom lip, greedily sucking away the remaining frosting. Jean slid his caked hands through Marco’s hair, down to weave his fingers together behind his neck and leaving a trail of blues and greens in their wake. Marco lowered himself, resting most of his weight on his forearms on either side of Jean’s head, and pressed his hips into the other’s.

Jean smiled into the kiss, mumbling softly against the corner of Marco’s mouth, “I take it you’re feeling better.”

“Mmm,” Marco hummed and ducked his head to nuzzle at his boyfriend’s neck, “I am now.” He mumbled, lips trailing up Jean’s neck until he reached the sensitive skin of his earlobe. “Guess it’s the dessert.”

Jean shivered with a chuckle and tilted his head to the side, granting Marco a better angle, “Bedroom?”

“First we should talk about the holidays, family, where we’re-”

Jean stopped him with a short peck on the lips and grinned. “After.”

“I’ve been horizontal for the past two weeks.”

“Doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy a ride.”

Marco leaned back and raised a quizzical yet _very_ interested brow. “True.”

 

\--

 

**November 13, 2014**

 

Stretching his arms to the ceiling with a raspy yawn and a rippling of popping going down his spine, Jean looked back at the beautiful mess of a sprawled out and stomach-down brunette sleeping soundly beside him. While he’d woken up more than refreshed, his boyfriend was more on the weary side after a fairly long night. Leaning closer, Jean traced his fingertips across freckled broad shoulders, gliding down the curve of his spine to the small of his back. Marco barely stirred, only letting out a soft hum and giving the pillow underneath him a light squeeze.

A light tapping brought Jean’s gaze to the window. Fat raindrops pelted the glass pane, descending from the dark clouds above and promising a storm would roll in. The sound alone made him want to curl under the covers and around his boyfriend to sleep the day away. A glance at their nightstand’s clock told him that his wish would come true. It was ten in the morning and neither of them had any reason to leave the house. He grabbed his pillow to readjust himself, pausing with a grimace when he noticed the hardening blue smudge on the fabric.

Oh, right.

Their Great Cake War.

Jean decided against waking Marco, pressing his lips to the short hair at the nape of his neck. He carefully rolled off of the bed and gave his boyfriend a last loving smile before heading downstairs.

 

\--

 

Halfway down the stairs, Jean found himself rubbing his arms, crossed over his chest to keep warm. The late autumn morning was surely cold; which would have been fine if it stayed outside.

He checked the thermostat in the hall, seeing that it was set to the mid-seventies, and made a questioning sound. Roaming around the first floor to find the culprit of the cold, something was starting to feel… _off_. Jean put it aside on his list of _things to look for_. First things first; he preferred it if his nipples didn’t break off from frostbite. He cranked the heat up a few degrees and shuffled to the other end of the hall.

The floors creaked louder under the expanded hardwood, one particularly noisy step had him wincing and glancing back at the stair’s landing. He paused, listening closely for any sound of movement upstairs. Other than the rain on the windows there was silence.

He continued on and turned in to the kitchen, eyes widening with horror at the sight before him.

It was a mess. Well, he expected as much, but seeing was worse than he imagined. It looked like a bakery exploded in their kitchen; on the walls, cabinets, on the floor and the island. He carefully stepped around the pastry carnage, quietly laughing at the handprints and body-length smudges on the floor. Footprints tracked around the island, reminding him of a short game of chase they’d played.

Over the initial shock and dread of cleaning such a catastrophe, Jean started a pot of coffee and picked up an unscathed cupcake. He sat at the island with a rough sigh, staring at it for a moment before wiping off the frosting and removing it from its wrapper. He waited until there was enough coffee to sneak a mug, finished both off quickly before pushing up his imaginary sleeves.

He definitely had his work cut out for him.

 

\--

 

Soft howls of wind passed through raindrops as they pattered hard on the bedroom windows. Though the curtains were drawn, the room was dark and gloomy as the clouds outside. Autumn’s leaves tinged the walls with traces of cloudy oranges and yellows that bounced around as they rattled about outside.

Coldness crept into the room and raised goosebumps on exposed freckled skin, rousing Marco from what was a perfect morning for sleeping in. He breathed deep and kept his eyes shut in attempt to keep his consciousness at bay. It felt too early to wake up, but an aching in his bones and the slowly dropping temperature loosened his hold on trying to stay asleep.

Marco shivered and blindly reached over to pull the sheets up around him. He retracted his arm just as quickly, his eyes shutting tight and groan muffled by the pillow he was face-down on. It was like something had tried to bite off his neck and shoulder in one go.

“Not again.” He mumbled to himself.

He tried again, this time the pain worsened and he bit back a yelp in the pillow. Carefully, he turned his head to find the other side of the bed empty. He could make out the occasional sound of someone moving around the kitchen and the faint, bitter scent of coffee. His eyes flickered up to the digital clock. It was half past noon.

Again he tried to move, using a snail-like pace to bend his arms and lift his chest so he could just get off of the bed. It took him another half hour, but he successfully got his feet to touch the ground. Standing was next on the list. He took a few deep breaths and leaned his back at the waist. He was sure he could pass as a ridiculous scarecrow.

He shuffled to the bathroom and took a few ibuprofen to lessen the pain. It would take a while until they kicked in, if they would take any effect at all. In fact, it was getting worse; pins and needles sticking and turning in his muscles. Increasingly growing impatient and weaker, he lowered himself into the tub before the water was ankle-deep. He stretched his legs out and sat back, twitching as he got used to the cold ceramic. The water rose until it reached his chest and he turned the faucet off. Closing his eyes, Marco sunk into the water until he reached the bridge of his nose and let the warmth engulf him. It was a lot better. Still painful, but he could move easier, if he wanted to. He came up to take in a breath then completely submerged himself. He felt safe, in a womb of water with the just sound of his own heartbeat and the skewed droplets from the faucet.

However, eventually he had to come up for air. He slid his back up the side of the tub and took in more air as he wiped the water from his face.

 _Marco_.

He opened his eyes and almost choked.

There she was.

The girl.

She was different than last time; not covered in blood and everything still intact. She was fully dressed, her clothing soaked and the water turning an ugly brown around her. She sat on the other end of the tub, staring unblinkingly at him with a shaken look in her eyes.

Marco quickly brought his knees to his chest, staring back with the same expression. His heartbeat was pounding in his throat, but unable to come out as a scream or a single word. He breathed hard through his nose, the girl mirroring his heaving chest and fetal position.

For what felt like forever to Marco, the staring and stillness went on, until her hand began to glide across the water, gradually coming closer to his.

He pressed back harder against the ceramic, away from her even though the pain was retuning. “Who are you?” his voice came out a shaky whisper. She didn’t respond, didn’t blink, but the distress was still in her eyes. “What do you want? Why are you here?”

Her fingers grazed his and he drew away, reaching back for the edge of the tub to pull himself out. He bit his cheek to hold back the cry threatening to escape him, both from the pain and the inhuman speed at which she seemed to materialize, her face inches from his. Marco tried to move again. He couldn’t back away or move much from the pain. It felt like he was being weighed down, forced to stay in his horror-struck state.

Black spots began to appear in the water, and the girl looked up, eyes widening to twice his size and her mouth dropped open in what looked like a silent scream. Marco followed her line of sight and gasped brashly through his teeth. A black substance thicker than water formed on the ceiling like a leak; spreading out and dripping down into the tub.

When he looked back down, the girl was gone but the black matter remained, turning the water pitch black. The dripping stopped. Other than his labored breathing and the shifting of water as he trembled, the room was silent. There was a long groan, and for a moment, Marco thought the ceiling was going to give. The groan came again, louder, closer, and clearer the second time.

It was dark and animalistic, rumbling low enough that Marco could _hear_ the teeth being bared.

 

\--

 

Jean ran the side of his wrist across his forehead, smudging day-old frosting across his temple. He kneeled back on his feet and threw the multicolored cloth over his shoulder. Kitchen finally spotless, Jean grabbed a trash bag from the top of the basement and gathered everything before running it out to the subzero garage. Once he was back inside, he fixed Marco a cup of coffee and made his way to the stairs. The strange feeling from earlier came back and he paused mid-step. He looked down the hall and realized the walls were plain. Jean took a few more steps to look into the living room and it suddenly struck him.

All of the pictures were gone.

Not fallen over, not on the floor. Just…gone.

_Creak_

The drawn out sound echoed down the hall, behind Jean. He glanced up the stairs, then back down the hall. Marco was probably still sleeping, so he didn’t have a reason not to hold off on bringing him up his coffee. He crept down the hall toward the kitchen, his eyes immediately landing on the wide open basement door. He set the mug down on the counter and stood in front of the door, looking down the stairs leading into the dim underground room.

He put his hand out, slowly waving it around in the air to feel for a draft. He did kick up the heat earlier that morning, but the vents weren’t close enough to cause a door to open. Jean shrugged it off and shut the door.

Now to find those pictures.

_Creak_

“Seriously?” he growled under his breath, turning around to see that the door, yet again, was open. He shut it again with a little more force and jiggled the handle to make sure it wasn’t loose. Right when he was going to walk away, the door opened the slightest bit. “Fucking,” he shut it then stood there, waiting for it to happen again, “Now stay, you piece of-”

The knob twisted, and Jean looked on before grabbing the door and swinging it open. There was no one there, only the same dark and empty basement. _But the handle twisted_.

Instead of shutting the door a hundredth time, he gave it a small push, letting it tap the latch. It inched back, and he tried it a few more times, testing the strength on the hinges as well as staring into the small opening each time it inched out. Jean wasn’t being patient at that point. He was annoyed by that stupid door and its stupid creaking.

Jean was taken by surprise when the door struck him right in the face, knocking him back on his ass. He sat up just as the door slammed shut. His chest was heaving and his forehead bleeding, he jumped up and opened it, glaring down into the basement.

A shape similar to that of the one he saw nights ago glided past the bottom of the stairs, and he was running down after it. “Hey!” he flipped on the light switch at the bottom of the stairs, eyes already wide and searching, “Who’s down here?” He growled and looked around the room, finding nothing but the furnace, the washer and dryer, and a few small boxes. Something caught the corner of his eye and he whirled around in time to see the figure disappear behind the furnace. Oh hell no. He was not about to have some creeper in his basement. He’d heard stories about people who secretly live in people’s attics and basements, and _this_ was not going to be _that_. “Don’t think I didn’t see you! Get the fuck out here so I can kick your ass!”

He stormed over to the furnace, fuming equally as hot as he circled halfway around it.

“ _Jean_!”

A scream of his name from upstairs stopped Jean’s heart, and he was running up the basement steps. Blood pounded in his ears, only making out the strained whimper and splash of water. Jean sprinted into their bedroom and toward the door, almost tripping on the clothes scattered on the floor.

“Marco!” He ripped open the door, eyes finding his boyfriend in the tub. “Marco!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ive been smoking too much.  
> i'm so sorry this is so late and so short! you'd think all this time i'd spit out 30k words or something.  
> and thank you so much for the comments and kudos! they're a real day maker :)  
> i'll look through this later for any grammar mistakes when I'm not at work and illegally using the computer for outside reasonssss  
> I hope you all enjoy!!


	4. Wake Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends are always there to help. Right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> lol early update  
> I realized toward the end that I used my birth date in there? Subliminal messaging oooo  
> Sooo the awesome writer, Fujoshichan69 (I'm name-dropping you, friend!), and I had a similar idea if anyone is up for it. Simply share your ghost/paranormal experiences down below, heck, on any chapter if you'd like  
> You can never have too many ghost stories ;]

Jean swung open the door, eyes finding his boyfriend in the tub. He stood in the doorway, chest heaving, with one shaking hand holding the door wide open and the other on the threshold to keep his balance. He’d almost slipped on the soaked floor on his way in.

Marco sat in the tub, his knees pulled up to his chest and his arms wrapped around his legs as he rested his chin on them. The water shifted as he lifted his head, droplets dripping from his hair and his soft features.

“Marco, what happened?” Jean asked softly. He stepped forward, toward the brunette, and glancing down at the floor until he was on the carpet. It was drenched as well, but it wouldn’t make him slip and crack his head open on something.

With a blank stare, Marco watched Jean kneel next to the tub. He slowly shook his head side to side, the corners of his mouth curving downward. “Nothing.”

Jean’s brows furrowed at the flat tone of his voice. “You were screaming.”

“No I wasn’t.”

“I heard you from the basement.”

“I think I’d know if I had screamed.” Marco turned to him, straightening his legs out and submerging them in the shallow bathwater.

Jean searched his eyes for some sort of emotion. Marco was a blank canvas and that confused Jean. He’d never seen his boyfriend look so ill, so much more worn down than the past few weeks. The bags under his eyes looked like they were coming back, and the grey undertone to his skin was twice as bad. If he hadn’t blinked, Jean would have taken him for a ghost. Jean reached out and gently brushed Marco’s bangs out of his eyes. He would need a haircut soon. “Did you see something?”

Marco tipped his head a fraction, and Jean didn’t miss the twitch in his right hand. “You’re bleeding,” he reached over the edge of the tub, his fingertips grazing over the cut on Jean’s forehead. The blonde winced. Marco’s hands were unnaturally cold against the awful lump forming there.

Jean forced a smile through his concern and took Marco’s hand in his, “Just a little accident downstairs.”

“Hm,” Marco intertwined their fingers and gave a squeeze that was too strong to be affectionate, “You must have hit your head hard.”

Marco wasn’t acting like himself at all, and it only increasing how unsettling the situation was becoming. Wasn’t Marco the one who was convinced there was something going on in the house? Yeah, Jean had been hit pretty hard, so the shadow might have been a trick of the eye, but he knew he didn’t imagine the door hitting him. He knew he’d heard Marco’s screams seconds before he opened the bathroom door.

“Yeah,” Jean smiled again, unsure if it was convincing or not, “maybe you’re right.” He dipped his hand into the bathwater and shook it off before gripping the edge of the tub again. “The water’s cold. That’s a sure way to get sick. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.” Jean leaned back and held both of his hands out to Marco. The brunette stared at his boyfriend’s hands for a moment before taking them and allowing him to assist him out of the water.

Jean got a couple of towels from the cabinet as Marco stepped out of the tub and wrapped it around him before kissing the tip of his nose. “Good news is we both have the day off, so we can sleep it if you’re tired. Doesn’t that sound good?” he asked, dabbing the blood from his head. The cut had stopped bleeding a while ago, leaving just a small welt. Nothing a band-aide couldn’t fix.

Marco nodded slowly. He hadn’t taken his eyes off of Jean since he entered the room, not even to blink. Jean tried to ignore how uneasy it was making him as he brought him back to bed. Once Marco was under the covers, a thought hit him—or he was looking for a reason to avoid those dark eyes even for a few minutes.

“Oh, I forgot your coffee downstairs. I’ll be right b-”

He was stopped short when Marco grabbed his arm, “Wait,” His gaze was softer and the liveliness was slowly returning, “Stay with me?”

Jean blinked down at him and couldn’t help the affection that washed over him. Marco may have been acting strange, but he was still Marco, and Jean would never stood a chance against the brunette to turn him down. He slid himself under the covers, scooting closer and facing the brunette before stroking his pale, freckled cheek. Marco sighed and closed his eyes, leaning close into the touch. Jean smiled sincerely and moved closer to press their foreheads together, angling his head to avoid his cut.

“I don’t want to be alone.” Marco said in a raspy whisper. Jean could hear a hint of something else.

“I won’t leave you. You know I won’t.” Jean said reassuringly and nuzzled his nose against Marco’s.

He wondered where Marco got the idea that he would leave him in the first place. Jean made a promise that he would never leave Marco’s side, no matter what. Jean lowered his hand to lace his fingers with the brunette’s, feeling the thick band he’d placed on his ring finger years ago.

He listened to Marco’s steady breathing slowed as he drifted into sleep. He was surprised to see the greyish tone gradually fade by the minute. It was still there, just barely noticeable. He must have been in the cold water for too long.

He considered asking Marco about the picture frames once he woke up, but one rough morning was more than enough. However, after a while of watching over his boyfriend, Jean found himself struggling to keep his eyes open, so he gave into falling back asleep.

 

\--

 

**November 14, 2014**

 

**3:06 a.m.**

 

A loud _slam_ jolted Jean out of his deep sleep and into a sitting position. Heart racing, his eyes darted around the room until they fell on the empty space beside him. Listening for any sign or sound of Marco’s whereabouts, he pulled the covers back and slowly slid out of the bed, hissing when his feet touched the cold hardwood floor. The room was almost as cold as the lower floor was nights ago. Jean rubbed his goosebump covered arms and groaned. The heater must have been off again.

Still wary of what had woken him, the blonde kept his eyes on the dark corners as he shuffled over to the dresser and took out a hoodie. No sign of Marco’s presence was in the room or the hall as Jean tiptoed down the stairs. To his surprise and confusion, the pictures were all back in their places, even the ones that hung in the hall.

Jean walked through the living room, fingers brushing over the shelf where his favorite picture was placed. It was difficult to see in the darkness, but Jean knew every detail. In that little 8 x 10 frame, he and Marco were in their graduation caps and gowns, confetti and other graduates’ caps in the air. Jean had Marco’s face cradled in his hands as he gave him a sloppy and thrilled kiss, both their smiles bright against each other’s lips. He found himself smiling at the photo, momentarily forgetting the recent troubles that had been plaguing them.

“Marco? Babe, where are you?”

_Creak_

Unfortunately, Jean was brought back to the present with that unsettling sound. He moved slowly down the hall that led to the kitchen and peeked his head in. He turned on the small light over the kitchen sink and peered over at the half-opened basement door and the black abyss it led to. He crept over to it, all too cautious of having it knock him on his ass again. He held the door open firmly and stared down at the nothingness.

“Marco?” he waited a minute to call out for him again when a small sound echoed up the stairs.

Jean glanced at the door and moved it open enough to slip by, his grip strong on it until he was down the first couple of steps, then let go. He could more clearly hear a quiet hissing similar to the sound of someone speaking in a hushed tone.

“Marco?” he whispered again, holding the railing and taking one step at a time.

He wouldn’t have found the lower level so freaky if the light wasn’t all the way at the bottom of the stairs. Did the previous owners not consider the safety hazards? Jean managed to make it to the bottom without falling on his face and flicked the switch. It was still dark. Jean’s jaw clenched as he flipped the switch up and down. _Of course_ the light blew. Why wouldn’t it? Luckily, the door had remained open and let in a sliver of light.

A harsh whisper from across the room sent a chill down his spine. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark, and he could see the familiar broad-shoulders that were undoubtedly Marco’s. The brunette stood in front of the furnace, his back to Jean.

Jean sighed with relief and stepped toward him, then paused when he caught the end of a whisper.

“-ve it back. It’s _mine_.”

Jean approached him more slowly, glancing around Marco to see who he was speaking to in such a threatening tone.

“ _He’s here_.”

That didn’t sound like Marco.

“H-hey, babe? Who’re you talking to?” Jean whispered, not wanting to startle him.

He put his hand on Marco’s shoulder and stepped beside him. Marco’s eyes were open, yet glassy and unfocused. Jean looked over at the furnace and glanced back to Marco as he approached it. He moved slowly, remembering what he’d seen the last time he was down there. He walked around the small space behind it, circling back to Marco.

The brunette’s right hand twitched; something that had been increasingly noticeable in such a short period of time. Jean stood in front of him and brushed the dark hair away from his face. Marco’s breathing was slow and steady, and Jean sighed. He was sleepwalking again.

“C’mon back to bed before we freeze our asses off.” He took his boyfriend by his hand and carefully coaxed him to the stairs.

Marco made no protests as Jean struggled to get him to the second floor. It took a while, but once they made it to the top of the basement, Jean shut the door and internally groaned when he realized they had yet another flight of stairs to get him up. He would have woken Marco up to make things easier for the both of them; however that usually wouldn’t apply to sleepwalking and it would likely startle the brunette.

Once they’d made it back into bed, Marco was his natural sleeping self again. He managed to tangle his and Jean’s legs before resting his head in the crook of the blonde’s neck, and gave a content hum. Jean smiled and kissed his hair, then turned to check the time.

**3:30 a.m.**

 

\--

 

**November 19, 2014**

 

Thanksgiving was just over a week away.

Marco had barely gotten out of bed for the past five days. He hadn’t gone to work or class, and Jean had called Marco out of work as well as email his professors, asking them to extend his boyfriend’s work until he was back in good health.

Marco was either sleeping or bathing, and his appetite had diminished again. Jean stayed by his side every minute that he could. His work hours had been bumped up, which he hated, but he was also thankful for the soon-to-be higher paychecks since Marco was temporarily out of commission, and they had the new responsibility of bills that needed paying.

 

Armin, Connie and Sasha, even Eren had called several times, increasingly worried about Marco’s status. Jean turned down their help several times, not wanting to burden them with his inability to always be by Marco’s side. Not to mention the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday on everyone’s plates—no pun intended. However, he couldn’t escape his friends’ and co-workers’ constant probing.

At one point, Eren pinned him to a wall by his throat. _“Get your horse face out of your ass. Marco’s our friend too, so you’re going to take our help or I’ll break your neck.”_

Though that time Jean wasn’t completely sure, Eren’s threats were never as harmful as they sounded. He had more bark than bite, but even Jean had to admit it; the kid had crazy eyes. Jean was still reluctant, but Eren was right. Marco was too important than his pride, and people other than himself were concerned about him.

He had eventually caved easier to Sasha’s maternal pleading rather than Connie’s vivacious rambling and Armin’s overanalyzing that might have led him to the worst case scenario. Eren was just a no.

 

\--

 

**November 20, 2014**

 

Marco was hardly aware of Jean or Sasha being there. He had slept the days away, and was beginning to realize what Connie meant when he said Jean’s mind was always on nothing but Marco. She gave Jean bi-hourly updates to calm the blonde down, though with every reassurance, he asked more questions.

 

“Is he alright? Has he come downstairs at all today? Has he eaten?”

Sasha had the phone balanced between her shoulder and her ear as she typed away on her laptop. She glanced at the time and droned. “I just checked on him about ten minutes ago. He was sleeping, but he ate a little before that.”

The phone crackled when Jean let out a long sigh. It wasn’t relief as much as frustration. “I should be there.”

“No, you should be working, not locking yourself in the breakroom so you can call every three seconds.”

“I can’t help it.”

Sasha stopped typing, hearing his quiet trepidation. “I’ve got it covered, Jean. Trust me. I’ve been keeping a close eye on him. If anything happens, you’ll know ASAP. And stop biting your nails.”

“How did you-” he let out another sigh followed by a long pause. “Could you check him one more time? Please? I won’t call again. Maybe in an hour. Is half an hour too much?”

“Yes and yes. Now get back to work before you get demoted.”

“Thanks, Sash.”

“No problem. Now go or I’ll sick Connie on you.”

“Right. Thanks again.”

“Mhm.” Sasha hung up and set the phone down. One big stretch later, she went up to check on the still unconscious Marco with a satisfied hum.

 

\--

 

“Take _that_ , Professor Nile.” Sasha cackled to herself as she hit send.

The low, drawn out groan of floorboards from up above caught her attention and she tilted her head back. Marco must have woken up and was walking around. She got up from the desk chair and left the living room, listening to the ceiling moan under the weight, and stopped at the landing at the bottom of the stairs. The groaning of the floorboards stopped and she slowly walked up the steps. She listened carefully outside the bedroom door and gave a few small knocks.

“Marco, are you awake?”

 

\--

 

Jean sat hunched over his keyboard, staring up at the screen as he scrolled through websites. For every one of Marco’s strange symptoms, one hundred causes popped up. He knew better than to trust most of anything Google said, but his time and resources were limited at that moment.

He glanced at his phone and pressed the button to check for any texts or calls. He’d last called home two hours ago. Sasha hadn’t called him since then either. Two hours was too long. Long enough to let paranoia start to set in. What if something went terribly wrong and Sasha couldn’t call? Emergency rooms don’t have the best service. What if Marco was in pain or choking in his sleep? He wouldn’t be able to speak. Sasha would never even hear him.

He picked up his phone and speed dialed home. His heartrate picked up with every ring, never feeling as distraught as he did when it rolled over to voicemail. He called back again and received the same result. At that point, Jean was about to have a full-blown panic attack.

Sasha’s cellphone. Of course! He’d call her cellphone.

Jean frantically dialed her number and practically slammed his forehead on the keyboard when he got no answer. Why wasn’t she answering?

“Kirschtein! Fuck around with your phone on your own time and _get back to work_.”

Jean flinched and quickly minimized the browser and simultaneously put his phone away, then glanced over his shoulder. His boss, Nile, stood behind him with his arms crossed, one finger tapping against his arm.

“Yes, sir.” Jean mumbled, turning back and staring down his phone as he typed away, designing the advertisement assigned to him. Once his boss was gone, he opened the browser again and sent a short email to Sasha, writing in big bold; ‘ _ANSER YOUE PHONE!!!!!_ ’

Okay, so the grammar wasn’t great, but he was in a rush and didn’t want his boss returning to see him doing everything but work. She would get the point anyways.

 

\--

 

Sasha pushed the bedroom door open and glanced around until her eyes landed on the blankets covering a big lump on the bed. A few steps in and she could see the slow rise and fall of Marco’s torso. She tip-toed over to his side of the bed and kneeled beside him, “Marco? How are you feeling?” She asked, gently running her hand up and down his arm. “If you’re hungry I can make you something.”

She got a small, deep groan in response and tilted her head.

“Jeeaaaan,” Marco rasped weakly from under the covers.

Sasha looked at the clock on the night stand, “He’ll be back in just a couple of hours, sweetie.” She crooned softly to comfort him, “Think you’ll be okay until then?”

He pulled the blankets tighter around him as he curled up and whimpered. Sasha frowned and stood up. “I’ll be right back, okay?” She grazed her fingers over his arm again as reassurance and went downstairs. Her phone was already vibrating on the desk. She scooped it up and pressed her lips tightly together when she saw Jean’s name.

She quickly hit answer and held the phone up to her ear. “H-”

“Why haven’t you been answering your phone?!” Jean whispered harshly. Luckily, he sounded frantic and not irritated.

She could already picture him hiding under his desk and cupping the phone to his face. Jean did things like that. “I was upstairs checking on Marco.”

“For ten minutes? Is he okay? Are you okay? What happened?”

“Calm down. Nothing happened. I was just about to cook something up for him. He definitely likes my culinary skills more than yours. That should help-” she held the phone away from her ear and mouthed a curse.

“What? Help what?” The panic in his voice was rising with every word, “I can be there in twenty.”

“Jean, stop freaking out. You’re going to give yourself a stroke. Marco is fine and you’re not leaving work. I told you to trust me, okay? I’m hanging up now. I’ll tell him you send your love. Bye-bye.” She quickly ended the call before he could utter another word. Tucking her phone into her back pocket and setting it to vibrate, just in case Jean went into another panic episode, Sasha went into the kitchen.

 

\--

 

 Marco felt like every bone, muscle, and tendon was on fire. Everything hurt, even breathing. The pain had only gotten worse since that morning, after Sasha’s first check-up. It started in that same spot on the nape of his neck and shoulder, spreading from there and all the way to his toes. He curled in on himself more and held back a small cry. He’d been desperately hoping to sleep the pain away for the past five days.

He wanted Jean.

 _Needed_ Jean.

He may not feel less physical agony, but having his boyfriend there would give him some comfort. He loved his friends to death, but the lack of Jean’s gentle caresses had him on the verge of sobbing. He would have if it didn’t feel like his ribcage was full of needles.

A couple of hours seemed like an eternity.

He shut his eyes tightly and wished that when he opened them, Jean would be there. Then, a soft hand was on his back, in the most strained area. He hissed and squeezed his eyes tighter. It wasn’t Jean. He wanted to tell Sasha to _please_ move her hand, but speaking had become a chore of its own. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. How was he supposed to get her to leave him alone?  Her hand moved up, up higher until it grabbed the part of the blanket above his head.

The clattering sound of dishes moving around and the distant humming from downstairs made him open his eyes. “S-Sa…?”

A deep, strained exhale followed by a wheezy breath echoed in his ears, and Marco froze. Suddenly, the blanket was violently yanked off of him, and he couldn’t make a sound.

 

\--

 

Sasha hummed along to her own tune as she set two plates. Setting one on a tray for convenience, she jogged up the stairs. Surely her stir-fry would have Marco feeling better enough to do backflips. Tray in one hand, she shouldered the bedroom door open.

“I made you one of your favorite…” Her words drifted off when she came upon the empty bed. “Marco?” She looked around the room, finding no sign of him. “Huh. Must be taking a bath or something.”

She made another scan of the room before taking the tray with her as she headed back downstairs. She returned to the kitchen and her phone vibrated as she placed the plate on the counter. With a roll of her eyes, she slid the phone out from her pocket. She expected to see Jean’s name yet again. Instead, she was pleasantly surprised when Connie’s name appeared.

“Hey there,” She spoke into the receiver.

“How goes the Marco-sitting, my _fiancé_?”

She laughed at his emphasis on the new title and leaned back against the counter. “It goes well, thank you very much. Jean’s been calling nonstop, though. I tell you, he’s either going to get himself in trouble or sedated.”

“Actually…” Connie paused and Sasha raised a brow, “Jean asked me to call you. Nile is literally over his shoulder right now. But I did call to talk to you, snookums!”

Sasha snorted and crossed her free arm over her chest. Apparently Connie was off the food-inspired nicknames for the time being. “Tell Jean for the hundredth time that everything is fine and to chill out.”

“I’ll tell him for the hundredth and one time. Can you blame the guy though? I’d be pretty devastated if anything happened to you.”

“You’d probably be worse.”

“True, but how many guys would feed you tacos every day until you felt better?”

“I know a few.”

“Ouch. That’s cold blooded, babe. I’ll forgive you this time, maybe after a spanki-”

_Creak_

The sound caught Sasha’s attention before Connie finished his sentence. Her eyes followed the sound to the basement door, faintly swinging back and forth. She lowered the phone to her chest and watched as it continued to open. She stepped around the kitchen island and toward the door. A loud _clack_ from the basement made her jump, and she distractedly held the phone to her ear. “I’ll call you right back…”

“Is that a no to later?”

His questioning words faded as she put the phone down on the counter, not bothering to turn it off as her attention was only on the door. Sasha started down the stairs, holding the railing with one hand and feeling along the wall for a switch with the other. She found it at the bottom and flipped the switch, hardly lighting up the room. It was a standard house’s basement, not unlike her and Connie’s.

_Clack_

Sasha turned to face the furnace. She supposed there must have been some sort of bump or dent in the pipes above to make that sound. She dropped the theory when a fluttering shadow darted around behind the heating machine. Eyes wider, she leaned sideways to peep around it.

The flying creature flew right at her and she ducked to the ground with a shriek. She bit her lip to quiet herself, covering her head at the squeaking creature. She peeked between her arms to see what it was. A small bat flew around wildly until it reached the small window along the ceiling of the basement. There was the smallest crack from broken glass, but it managed to get out. That must have been the way it got in in the first place.

Not wanting to stay down there any longer, she took a few steps beck, toward the staircase. The last thing she wanted was one or more flying around, at least not while she was down there. She puffed a quick breath and turned back for the stairs.

“Marco!” Her hand flew over her mouth, her heart racing underneath as she stared wide eyed up at him.

His features were relaxed, not unusual for him, yet something was off. His eyes didn’t have their natural gleaming that made him Marco. No faint smile that was always a constant. A chill ran down her spine. It was as if he wasn’t looking at her, but _through_ her. His right hand had a spasm obvious enough for Sasha notice, and she looked down. He held a brown leather book in his hand. It was a little worse for wear, but not much of it torn or damaged. She would have asked him about it if she wasn’t wondering how he got down there. Ten minutes earlier he was curled up in a ball, yet there he was standing in the basement.

“Are you feeling better?” Sasha asked optimistically, “I made you a plate of awesomeness upstairs. But you probably already saw it on your way down here.” She reached out to take Marco’s arm and withdrew it just as fast.

He stepped back, leaning his right side further back than the left. His quick reaction wasn’t nearly as startling as the rage in his eyes, brows pulled together enough to crinkle the bridge of his nose.

“Okay,” She breathed with a shaky smile, “Let’s just…go upstairs and…and we can eat and Jean will be back soon, yeah?”

Marco blinked and his expression softened a bit. He opened his mouth as if to say something but then closed it. His composure slipped away and he visibly stiffened again when Sasha walked around him toward the stairs, never taking his vacant eyes off of her. It gave her more of the chills as she continued on her way, her own gaze fixed on anything but him. She’d never seen him look so angry, if at all, and wondered if Jean had seen him like that yet. Of course he has, she told herself. Why wouldn’t he? They lived together.

Footsteps followed her up the stairs, and the basement light flickered out behind her. She went into the kitchen and took a seat at the island. Marco slid his chair out, letting it scrape noisily across the floor. Sasha almost winced at the noise but forced herself to keep up her normal demeanor.

He took the seat across from her and she smiled weakly, pushing his plate over to him and keeping her eyes on the table. “Here you go! Tell me if it’s too cold. You know my meals have to be on point every time.”

She didn’t think she would ever be afraid of Marco, nor did anyone else. Marco was sweet, lively, sassy at times, but never harmful. She didn’t know what she was more disturbed by; _why_ he was acting so strange, or _what_ was making him act that way. She glanced at the leathery book beside him and he put his hand on it, sliding it into his lap. Sasha quickly averted her gaze, barely catching his usually pleasant features as they started to change into a nasty sneer.

They sat in silence for what felt like forever to Sasha. Neither of them touched their plates, but she didn’t complain. She was sure that she wouldn’t get a response regardless. His eyes were burning holes into her, and hers remained fixed on the table.

“Aren’t you going to answer that?” Marco spoke lifelessly.

Sasha gasped at his sudden ability to speak again. Her phone started to vibrate and she jumped. She glanced over at it and saw Jean’s name flash across the screen, and wondered how many times he’d called after hanging up with Connie. She stared at the moving phone and swallowed before grabbing it and excusing herself. She walked into the next room and hit answer, “H-hey, Jean.”

“Hey, Connie said you…what’s wrong?” Jean stopped himself when he heard the unsteady breath in her few words.

“Yeah. O-oh, uh, I mean, everything is great. Nothing’s wrong. Marco and I are,” She looked over her shoulder to see Marco still at the island, staring at her, expressionless as before, “we’re eating right now.”

Jean’s relieved sigh sent static through the receiver, “That’s good. You sure you’re okay? You sound a little off.”

“Yeah, no I’m fine. We’re fine.”

“Okay…I’ll be there soon. Oh, and Sash?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you again. I know I’ve been a huge pain in the ass today. I owe you big time.”

Sasha stopped herself from looking at Marco again and bit her lip. He’d owe her more than big time. “Don’t worry about it. We’ll see you soon.” She held the phone to her ear until she heard the dial tone and hung up. She put on her happy face and returned to her seat, avoiding Marco’s eyes and counting down the minutes until Jean got back.

 

\--

 

“I’m home!” Jean shouted and closed the door behind him. He shook off his jacket and ran his fingers through his hair, brushing off the chilly night air that still clung to it. He looked up just as Sasha stepped into the hall. She was wringing her hands and her smile wasn’t quite believable. He quietly motioned for her to come closer, and Sasha looked back into the room she’d come out of before obliging. “Hey, are you alright?” He spoke quietly, occasionally glancing over her shoulder.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just that,” Her brows furrowed as she thought out how to say her next words, “have you noticed Marco acting strange lately?”

Jean mimicked her expression and slowly shook his head. “Well, yeah. He’s been sick.”

“You haven’t noticed anything else?”

“Like what?”

“Welcome home, Jean.”

Jean looked up, just missing Sasha stiffen before turning around. Marco stood at the end of the hall, a soft smile on his lips and his eyes fixed on his boyfriend. “Hey, babe. Look at you, walking around and stuff.”

Marco chuckled and looked at Sasha. “I feel much better thanks to you.”

“Thank you, Sash, seriously.” Jean smiled and she turned back to him. “I now relieve you of your duties. Connie’s got some kind of surprise for you. At least, that’s what he told me to tell you.”

“I’ll see you soon, Sasha.”

“Th-thanks,” She mumbled, not turning to look at him, “I should get going. You two have a good night.” Sasha spoke quickly and grabbed her things, rushing out the door without bothering to put her coat on and missing Jean’s goodbye.

 

\--

 

Jean walked down the hall and wrapped his arms around the brunette’s neck. “I’m sorry, love, but the weekend begins now, so unfortunately, you’re stuck with me.” He said, leaning up to plant a small kiss on his lips.

“You’re cold, Jean,” Marco whined and ducked his head into the crook between his boyfriend’s neck and shoulder. “I’d rather you babysit me than Sasha. Please don’t tell her I said that.”

He snickered against his temple. “I’ll keep mum, and don’t call it babysitting.”

“Care giving?”

 “Sure,” Jean said with a smile, “Hey, if you’re up for it, want to do a little something tonight?”

Marco leaned back, one brow arched and a smirk on his face. “What’s your idea of a _little_ something?”

“I was thinking somewhere along the lines of a movie marathon, but if you’re up for…other things, I am too.” Jean winked.

“Wow. You don’t waste any time, do you?”

“Carpe Diem.”

“Aren’t you even going to woo me first?”

“Dearest Marco,” Jean slid his hands from around Marco’s neck, down his sides to wrap around his waist and pull him close, rasping against his ear, “ _J’vais vous ruiner ce soir_.”

Marco shivered and it was his turn to drape his arms over Jean’s shoulders, “I just might be up for that. Movie first, though?”

“Ah, yes. The before foreplay. Shall we take this to the living room?”

 

\--

 

Marco watched his boyfriend as he slept in tranquility, blonde hair tousled and softly snoring. Even with the small wet spot of drool forming on the pillow, Marco couldn’t help but smile at the love of his life. He sighed and brushed the tips of his fingers across the other’s cheekbone, cupping his sharp jaw and rubbing soft circles around the spot just under his earlobe. Jean’s brows creased for a moment until they returned to their relaxed state.

A pang of guilt began to swirl in his chest and his smile disappeared. Whatever it was that was happening to him—something he himself couldn’t even begin to explain himself—was ruining Jean. Marco had avoided telling him about the blackouts he’d been having more and more frequently, and he planned to keep it that way for as long as he could. The last thing Marco wanted to do was make things worse. The stress of the move and work was already too much for the blonde, and Marco knew he was just another hassle. None of it was fair to Jean.

“I’m sorry,” He whispered, his voice cracking as he swallowed down the lump growing in his throat.

He quietly cleared his throat and rubbed his glassy eyes before sitting up. Absentmindedly tangling his fingers in blonde locks, he peered over at the clock. It was almost midnight. What used to be early for the two of them for a weekend night had turned into catching up on sleep. Eyes travelling from the clock to the nightstand, he noticed the small drawer wasn’t completely shut. He slid his fingers out of Jean’s hair and leaned over to open the nightstand.

A book he’d never before seen lay there. It had a worn brown leather exterior. Marco carefully slid it out and held it in his lap, running his hand along the cover. Wondering what mysterious book was, he opened it to the first page, where a name was written. It was too hard to read with how faded it had become, so he flipped through a few more pages. It was a journal, written in perfect cursive. Marco flipped to the first page again and squint his eyes, and he could hardly make out the last name.

 

 

 _Langnar_.


	5. House Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> when Marco's suffering becomes too much, Jean goes against his wishes, but it seems things could be going back to normal. For the most part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who's read this far, everyone who has commented and left kudos, and everyone this fic may be scaring the shit out of. Thank you ;)  
> This chapter is a bit slow/not much spookiness. However, there be some *cough*maybealot*cough* fluff/angst  
> oh, and uh...between you and me, i have a tumblr.  
>  imgnchar-latte.tumblr.com

**November 23, 2014**

 

 

Jean rolled onto his back with a groan. Luckily he remembered to set his phone’s alarm to vibrate, and not a volume that would catapult him out of bed. He cracked an eye open to hit snooze and shut his eyes again. No one likes Monday mornings, and Jean hated all mornings. A few deep breaths later, he turned onto his side to leech off of his boyfriend’s heat. He opened his eyes again and stopped his hands from reaching for him, instead flying to cover his mouth to stifle the strangled noise that slipped out.

He’d seen the bruise on Marco’s neck and shoulders weeks ago, but it had gone away. It was ten times worse and dark enough to hide the splatter of freckles that were supposed to be there across his shoulders. Jean slowly got off of the bed and circled around to Marco’s side to kneel beside him. The brunette’s brows were knit closely together, pain written all over his face. Jean bit into his bottom lip and brushed his fingertips from the other’s temple and down to his jawline. Marco’s body shook and a small sound passed through his lips. Jean sucked in a sharp breath to keep another distressed sound to himself.

Jean’s phone vibrated for the second alarm. Every time he got the idea to bring him to a doctor, Marco was quick to shoot it down, but Jean could only take so much of watching him suffer. The blonde stood and crossed the room to grab his phone then started to dig through the laundry. When he found the card he’d been holding on to, he tapped the number into his phone and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Dr. Smith’s office, please hold.”

Jean grunted when he couldn’t get a word in and sat through four minutes of elevator music until the line was picked up again.

“This is Dr. Smith. May I ask whose calling?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m…this is,” Jean spoke quietly, glancing back at Marco every few seconds, “I don’t know if you remember me. My name’s Jean and-”

“Kirschtein?” Jean paused and looked at his phone. “Caller I.D.” Dr. Smith explained, and Jean nodded.

“If I recall, you’re the livid one from the emergency room. How has…Marco I believe his name was? How is he doing?”

Jean bypassed the part about his temper. It wasn’t the time to talk back. “About that. So, uh…listen. Please. I don’t know how to explain this,” He looked over his shoulder when Marco let out a tiny sob. “It’s an emergency. A big one, and I don’t think it can wait five ours in a waiting room, so I figured I’d call for some sort of over the phone help.”

The line was quiet for a moment and Jean’s patience was thinning. He checked his phone’s screen again to see if he’d been hung up on when the doctor’s voice came through again. “Alright. I’m at my office in Stohess right now. Do you think he can make it another two hours?”

Jean looked at Marco and let out a strained breath, “He’s in too much pain to drive him up there.”

“You misunderstood, Mr. Kirschtein. On the very rare occasion, I do make house calls.”

At that, Jean’s eyes lit up and he nodded, “I appreciate this, Dr. Smith, I owe you one. Thank you again.”

“Don’t try to bite my head off again and we’ll call it even.”

Jean was glad he wasn’t there to see him glare at the wall. “Sure. Oh, wait, you need the address, right?”

“I have it in Marco’s file. I’ll be seeing you two soon.”

Jean repeatedly thanked him and ended the call. He had to call out of work, but decided to take the emailing route. He’d deal with Nile’s rage the next time he saw him.

He’d never seen Marco in so much agony, and it was breaking Jean’s heart to see him that way. He sat on the edge of the bed next to Marco and gently brushed the messy hair out of his eyes, watching as his features begin to relax. Jean leaned down and placed small kisses to his boyfriend’s forehead, temples, cheeks, eyelids, anywhere he could in hopes he could be at least a fragment of comfort to him. Marco barely shifted a centimeter and a whimper escaped him. Jean soothingly hushed him and closed his eyes, hoping those two hours would go by fast.

 

\--

 

A hard knock on the front door woke Jean up. He’d fallen asleep half on the floor, his upper half on the bed with his chin resting on his folded arms, and his legs stiffly tucked underneath him. Marco was still asleep, breathing deep and slow. He wincing if he breathed too deep, only then his brows would crease. There were a few more knocks at the door and Jean slid off of the bed, telling Marco he’d be right back.

Jean hurried down the stairs and opened the door to find porch was vacant. He stood there for a moment and closed the door. He mumbled something about the neighbor’s ‘damn kids playing stupid pranks’ and turned back to the stairs. He made it a few steps up before three loud knocks stopped him. Jean stormed back down and opened the door again.

Dr. Smith stood on the doorstep, gesturing at his car in the driveway. “Sorry about that, I left a few things in the car.”

Jean stepped aside to let the doctor in and to close the door to stop the cold from getting in. “No problem. Thanks for coming, doctor.”

“Erwin is fine. Doctor sounds unfitting for the setting, don’t you think?” He chuckled.

“Sure,” Jean nodded and showed Erwin where he could hang his jacket. A stethoscope was draped over his shoulders, accompanied by a small flashlight and thermometer in his shirt pocket. He was dressed as though he’d just come from another hospital; which wasn’t impossible.

“Can you show me to him?”

“Yeah, he’s upstairs.” Jean led him up the stairs, pausing outside the bedroom door for a moment. Would Marco be upset with him for this? He had shot down every one of he’s suggestions to see a doctor, and Jean had gone against it. But he didn’t have a choice. If Marco could have seen himself, he would understand…Right? Either way, it was too late, so Jean pushed the door open.

Marco was exactly as he’d been when Jean left, in a loose fetal position on his side facing the window. Jean sat on the edge of the bed, beside his legs, and leaned over him. “I’m back,” Jean spoke quietly enough for only Marco to hear, “Can you wake up for me, love?”

The brunette let out a small huff followed by a breathy whine and Jean waited for him to open his eyes. Jean smiled warmly at him and brushed his fingers through his dark hair. Marco reached his hand out and Jean took it, lacing their fingers together. “Everything hurts,” Marco whispered.

Jean smiled as reassuringly as he could. “I know, baby. I called someone who might be able to help you feel better. Is that okay?” Jean waited for Marco to show some form of disappointment or resistance, but it didn’t come. The brunette closed his eyes and nodded. Jean should have been relieved, but he couldn’t be when Marco looked like had given up.

Jean looked up and realized Erwin had been waiting patiently by the door. Jean nodded for him to approach Marco, and the doctor set the briefcase on the unoccupied side of the bed, observing the discoloration on his neck and shoulders. Jean made more room for him to examine him face-to-face, never letting go of Marco’s hand.

He slipped the small flashlight from his pocket and flicked it on. “Marco, I’m going to move the light from side to side. All you have to do is follow it.”

Marco nodded once and winced as the light hit his eyes. Erwin slowly moved it from side to side, then up and down. His reaction started out with a small delay, but soon caught up to normal speed. Next, the doctor checked his temperature, then his throat, and ears before he put the small light away. He removed the stethoscope from around his neck and adjusted the earpieces. He would have preferred it if Marco could sit up for a better look, but he could clearly see that Jean wasn’t exaggerating when he told him Marco’s status. He rubbed the chest piece on his shirt for a few seconds to warm it and pressed it lightly to the brunette’s chest. “Breathe as deep as you can.”

Marco’s chest moved about half as much as the average person’s and Jean gave his hand a gentle squeeze. Erwin moved it around to different areas of his chest, and Jean nearly slapped his hands away when he moved to check from his back. The doctor must have understood why and pulled the stethoscope away to drape it over his shoulders as he stood up.

“His heartrate and temperature are perfect, motor skills are a slightly delayed. You said he developed this bruise overnight?”

“Yeah,” Jean said as he kept his eyes on his boyfriend. “It wasn’t there when we went to sleep.”

“Have you been following the directions I last gave you?”

“We did, and he was fine for a while so we kind of stopped. Now he’s too tired or nauseous to keep much down.”

Erwin nodded and hummed in thought. “Do you mind if we step out of the room for a moment?”

Jean’s stomach dropped and landed somewhere on the other side of the world. It was almost never good when a doctor asked that question. He followed Erwin out and his hands were already shaking when they reached the hall.

The doctor only waited a moment, sparing Jean any more suspense. “I suggest you take him to get another blood test as soon as you can. It’s been a couple of months since his last one.”

“Why?”

“To find any changes. Simply to play it safe.”

How many reasons would someone need a cell count? Ten? Ten-thousand? What could possibly change that fast? Jean took a shaky breath and opened his mouth to speak, but couldn’t get any words out, so he repeated the only word that stuck, “Why?”

Erwin paused, remembering Jean’s reaction in the emergency room. He lowered his voice in a way that was probably supposed to be calming, and Jean wondered how many people he’d told this to. “To make sure it isn’t cancer, Jean. I’m not an oncologist, however many of his symptoms fit the criteria.”

“It’s not.” Jean said sharply. “Marco didn’t have it before, and he doesn’t have it now.”

“You may be right. It might not be, but the only way to know is to check.”

“You said it was depression and anemia.”

“Unfortunately, cancer doesn’t always show up right away.”

“ _Stop_ saying that word.” Jean might as well have spat venom with his words.

The doctor was silent for a moment, and Jean despised the flash of sympathy in his eyes. He took out a small notepad from his pocket. “Remember, this isn’t a diagnosis.” He scribbled on the notepad and tore it off before handing it to Jean. “This is a prescription for painkillers. They should only be used for emergencies like today. In the meantime, you’re going to go to the hospital, get the test, and get a diagnosis already,” he said sternly.

Jean bit his cheek and nodded as he took the paper. Should paper feel so heavy?

He saw the doctor out, thanking him for making the trip. Once the door was shut, he leaned against it and closed his stinging eyes. After a few minutes of calming himself down, he headed back upstairs. He opened the bedroom door, stopping in the threshold to take a moment to stare at his boyfriend. What was he supposed to tell him?

Jean crawled into their bed and cautiously slid his hand up and down Marco’s waist, “Are you mad at me?”

Marco was silent for a moment, and Jean wondered if he had fallen back asleep, or maybe he was giving him the cold shoulder. Then he got a small sigh of an answer, “No.” Jean smiled faintly and they fell into silence. It was another few minutes until Marco spoke again. “Thank you.”

Jean couldn’t hold him close without harming him, so did what he could. He wrapped his arm around Marco’s lower waist until he found his hand and laced their fingers together.

“Jean?”

The blonde opened his eyes—he hadn’t realized he had closed them—and gazed at the back of Marco’s messy bedhead, “Yeah?”

“Can you,” Marco tried to take a deep breath, his shoulders hitching at the pain, “Can you talk to me?”

“What about?”

“I don’t care. I just want to hear your voice.”

“Of course,” Jean started with what came to his mind first, “When I was about five years old and still living in France, we visited my _grandmere_. She had moved to a small town. Her house was a small cottage on one of those old cobblestone streets. You know, where they hang flowers all over the houses and there are fresh food markets and stands? I’m going to take you there someday…”

Jean went on with his stories and promises to take him to his home country, continuing after Marco fell back asleep.

 

\--

 

**November 25, 2014**

 

Marco lay stretched out on his stomach on the living room couch, trying his best to stay awake. It was his third day using the medication Dr. Smith prescribed, and the pain had dulled to an ache. It worked enough to where he could move around without feeling like there were a thousand needles under his skin.

Struggling to keep at least one eye open, he watched whatever show was on the television. He didn’t necessarily care. It was relaxing background sound, more so the sound of Jean humming his own tune and pots and pans clanking against each other.

“Hey, Marco,” Jean sang his name from the other room, “You wanna test this gravy? I tried something new.”

“Mmh,” Marco grunted, getting a laugh as a response. He blinked and suddenly Jean was squatting on the floor in front of him, a wooden spoon held out to him. “Did you translate?”

Jean may not have been able to hide his concern for his boyfriend, but he couldn’t help but snicker when Marco spoke in nonsensical babbling. Marco felt good though, so he was perfectly fine with being high on painkillers if it kept the pain at bay.

“I think you mean transport, but no,” Jean chuckled. “Give this a try.”

Marco’s tongue felt a little numb. He didn’t think that was safe to consume anything if he couldn’t feel his mouth, “I’ll drown.”

Jean bit his lip to hide his grin and shook his head. “I promise you won’t drown from a spoonful of gravy.” He offered the spoon again and Marco hesitated for a moment before trusting Jean enough to try it, and then nodded in approval.

“Barbara Stewart said chives are the secret.”

He watched Jean’s confused gaze turn to the television, then back to him. Marco was watching _Law and Order_ , not any cooking channels. He shrugged and turned back to the brunette with an amused grin. “Well then, it’s a good thing I used chives.” Marco opened his mouth to speak, but Jean waved his hand to stop him. “It’ll be a little while until dinner’s done.  In the meantime, chill out, sleep, whatever makes you comfortable, just stay in this position for now.”

Marco smiled and reached up to pat Jean on the cheek, “ _You_ are a _great_ husband.”

Jean smiled and took the brunette’s hand in his before kissing his palm and placing it back on the couch, “Thanks, love.”

Once Jean was out of his view, Marco sighed and shut his eyes, instantaneously dozing off.

 

\--

 

Marco came back to consciousness not long after. He could still hear Jean in the kitchen, softly singing along to the music coming from his phone. He breathed deep and groaned to himself. Not out of pain, but because he could finally get enough oxygen in his lungs. He turned his head to the side to look at the television, his vision slightly unfocused. He looked around the room, realizing how fast the sun had gone down. Eyes floating around his surroundings, they stopped at the stairs.

Marco frowned and squeezed his eyes shut. Upon opening them again, he could clearly see the girl standing there, staring at him. Her hands were clasped behind her back while she rested against the wall on the opposite side of the railing. Her freckled features were soft; unlike she’d been the first time he saw her. Head tilted to the side, her mouth opened, but instead of black sludge, her lips moved without a sound, however her body language suggested that she was asking a question.

He blinked and listened closely, and still nothing came out. Her round eyes narrowed into something along the lines of aggravation, probably because of the communication barrier. That was fine with Marco. He preferred an irritated stranger over a nightmare-inducing stranger any day.

He huffed and shook his head as much as he could with his cheek pressed against the cushions. “I still can’t hear you.”

“I said the food’s done.” Her lips barely moved, but it sounded like Jean’s voice.

Marco wondered how he could still be so drugged up to hear his boyfriend’s voice come out of her mouth until he realized it actually _was_ Jean. He was calling out to him from the kitchen. Marco glanced over his shoulder, though he wasn’t able to see much, other than the top of his boyfriend’s hair. He turned back at the stairs. The girl was gone.

Marco began to ease himself up into a sitting position and Jean appeared next to him, ready to aide him if needed. Marco snorted and adjusted enough to put his feet on the floor. “Oh, wow, I can do things.”

Jean snorted and rolled his eyes before gently placing his hands on Marco’s shoulders and pulled him forward so he could get a good look at his back. He lifted Marco’s shirt and took a peak. The bruise was still there, purple and slightly green, and taking up a large portion of his back, but it was so much better than the days before. He helped Marco off of the couch and ordered him into their small dining room.

The blonde disappeared into the kitchen again for a moment, and the girl was there again, arms crossed and frowning with…disappointment? Her brows were pulled together and she untucked one arm to point at the stairs. Jean came back around the corner, two plates in hand, and she was gone again.

Jean didn’t miss his boyfriend’s unfocused stare as he set the plates down. “Nodding off, babe?”

Marco’s eyes drifted back to Jean as he sat down and sighed deeply. It hurt a little, not enough to make him cringe though, “I don’t know…”

Jean chuckled and rested his chin in his hand, his fork pointed at Marco in a circular motion, “Come back down before your food goes cold, ‘kuz I expect you to eat all of it.”

Marco looked down at the plate of shepherd’s pie and smiled like a giddy child. It was Marco’s favorite comfort food. For a moment, he glanced back at where the nameless girl had been and. He thought about telling Jean that he’d been seeing what—who—sent him into that first panic months ago, but he looked at Jean with his bright smile and lively eyes, and thought that maybe things would really get better this time.

 

\--

 

**November 28, 2014**

 

Marco knocked on the large glass door and turned back to Jean. The blonde had his hands in his fluffy coat pockets, bouncing from one foot to the other to keep warm. Marco smirked and grabbed the scarf on both sides of his face, adjusting it enough to cover his ears. “If you’d worn that extra layer I put out for you, you wouldn’t be so cold.”

Jean huffed, his cold-reddened cheeks puffing out. “Then I’d be too hot inside.”

Marco rolled his eyes before kissing his boyfriend’s equally red nose. “That’s why they’re called layers. So you have more options.”

“Yeah, well,” Jean trailed off. Marco did have a point. He was just too stubborn to listen sometimes.

“Coming!” The couple glanced at the door, seeing the distant figure coming down the hall and to the door.

Marco faced Jean again and sped through the rules, “Okay now. No talk of anything medical—especially not the medication. You know how my mom feels about manufactured drugs. If they bring anything up, lie.”

“But you said-”

“I know, I know. No lying to parents, but this is different. I don’t want to worry them because then they’ll be up our asses about every move we make.”

Jean chuckled at the choice of words, earning a flat stare from the other, “Okay, alright. No talk of anything.” Marco nodded and turned back to the door as he muttered a small, ‘but that’s lying’.

The door swung open to reveal a lanky freckled woman with large brown eyes and a wide smile. “Boys! You finally made it!”

“Happy Thanksgiving,” They said in unison, though Jean’s was a little shaky from shivering. Marco’s mother looked Jean up and down and her hands went right to her hips. “Jean Kirschtein, what is the matter with you? Where are your clothes?”

Jean looked down at his outfit. He was covered from neck to toe. “How the hell-”

“Language.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Jean lowered his gaze at her stern tone while Marco choked back a smile. As far back as high school, Jean had always been the one getting scolded.

Once she was done, she kissed either side of Jean’s face, moving on to do the same to her son, crooning about how much she’d missed them as they settled in. Not long after, the soft, but enthusiastic, voice of Jean’s mother rang from the kitchen, making them both wince.

“Jeanbo! Marco! Look at you two, dressed up all spiffy for your parents.” She ruffled both their hair and greeted and doted over them as Marco’s mom had.

Marco glanced at the living room where both their fathers lay on the couches. They were likely put there by their wives, to get out of the way and let them do their own thing.

At least there’d be free food.

 

\--

 

It was a long day and it exhausted the both of them, but it was worth seeing their families together. He was glad Marco was up for it, though they could have gone without the hours of being nagged about grandchildren and wedding plans, but it was good to see their parents since Marco started his second year of graduate school.

 

 

 Jean glanced down at his boyfriend’s dark, disheveled hair and smiled. Marco had his head resting on the blonde’s lap, looking up at Jean as he caught up on editing a few webpages. After an hour or so of watching him work, he reached up and ran his fingers along Jean’s jaw. Jean’s smile grew and he took Marco’s hand, entwining their fingers and pressing the back of Marco’s hand to his lips.

The blonde closed his eyes and gave the freckled skin soft, lazy kisses. “What’s up, love?” He asked, grinning at Marco’s pouty face.

“Pay attention to me.”

He’d only been waiting forever for his boyfriend to distract him. He shut his laptop with his free hand and placed it on the nightstand.

Jean gazed fondly down at Marco. Marco, with his impossibly endearing features, who was staring up at him with eyes both deep and warm, full lips quirked up into the slightest smile, his thumb running across the back of his hand. Marco was beautiful, and that made it so much harder for Jean to consider what the doctor said.

“Come here.” Marco placed his free hand to the nape of Jean’s neck and coaxed him down for a kiss.

Jean tilted his head and Marco sighed when their mouths melded perfectly together, moving lazily against one another. Marco tightened his hold on the back of the blonde’s neck, his other hand grasping at Jean’s arm for leverage to lift himself up more, to deepen the kiss, to bring them together as close as they could. He nipped Jean’s bottom lip, getting a small groan in response, so he did it again; sucking and biting and pulling.

When it came to Marco, Jean was easily worked up, never really able to stay in make-out mode for long. Jean pulled away and manipulated Marco’s position until the brunette was straddling his lap. Marco picked up where they were, licking his way into Jean’s mouth. His hands moved to either side of Jean’s face, his thumbs sliding across the other’s cheekbones and down to the sensitive spot behind his ears, rubbing small circles and making the other shiver.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, love.” Jean chuckled and trailed wet kisses across Marco’s jaw, down to his neck and sucking incessantly at the freckled skin where he knew it got his boyfriend going.

Marco whined and tilted his head to the side, letting Jean mark him up, feeling the blonde’s hands travel down to the small of his back. Jean’s grip on Marco tightened as he rutted up against his ass, dragging another breathy moan out of him. Marco rolled his hips in retaliation, and they’d quickly fallen into a rhythm that had them both gasping between deep moans.

“Jean,” Marco sighed, wrapping his arms around his boyfriend’s neck and holding himself closer. He buried his face in Jean’s shoulder, keening against pale skin. Keeping one hand on Marco’s hip, Jean slid the other up and took a fistful of dark hair and turned his head to press a series of kisses to his temple. “Jean,” he said again with a tremble in his voice, “Jean, I love you.”

Jean’s hips came to an abrupt halt at the sound of Marco’s shaky breaths. Every time Marco said those three words to him, they never failed to set loose a storm of butterflies in Jean; always feeling like it was the first time they’d said it to one another.

But it felt different.

It felt like an apology.

Jean thought about leaning back to see his face, to ask what could he even be sorry for, and to tell him that whatever it was, he would be there for him.

But he didn’t. It was always difficult to get Marco to tell anyone anything about his troubles, too worried that he would be a burden to others. And recently, he’d been trying to make that as clear as possible to Jean. Asking Marco to vent about anything was like pulling teeth. It wasn’t that Jean didn’t bother to, but sometimes just being there with him, holding him, was what Marco needed.

The hand he’d placed on Marco’s hip moved to wrap around his waist, holding his boyfriend’s chest flat against his own. Marco shook above him, and he tightened his grip around him, rocking him soothingly in his lap. He closed his eyes and nuzzled Marco’s hair, placing more soft kisses there and wishing they could take away whatever was causing his pain and his guilt.

Jean was the one needed to be forgiven.

“I love you, too.”

 

\--

 

**3:13 am**

 

Marco sat with his back to the cool headboard of the bed, staring at the room’s occupied corner closest to the bathroom. He blinked drowsily but kept his gaze on that corner. He didn’t have to see to know it was her. Whether or not it was the effects of the medication, she had been showing up more frequently.

“Why are you here?” Marco growled, trying to stay quiet enough so he wouldn’t wake his sleeping boyfriend. He waited a moment for a response before speaking again, “I’m not going to let you ruin everything.”

A slender freckled hand appeared out of the shadows, pointing at the nightstand beside Marco.

‘ _I want that back_ ’

A sudden rage welled up in his gut and his whisper deepened to a low growl, “I’ve already told you it’s _mine_.” Jean grumbled inaudibly and shifted. Marco froze for a moment and stole a glimpse of him. The blonde’s grip on Marco’ shirt tightened for a moment but he remained asleep.

‘ _It’s not only you they want_ ’

“Leave.”

Silence took over the room again. Marco waited for another response that didn’t come and quickly opened the nightstand drawer. He grabbed the journal and stuffed it under his pillow. He’d have to find a better hiding spot in the morning when Jean wasn’t suctioning to him like a starfish.

In the meantime, Marco lay back down and wiggled around to fit whatever mess Jean got his limbs into while he wasn’t there. He let out a harsh breath and pressed their foreheads together. She didn’t know what she was talking about. She wasn’t real, and she was gone.

 


End file.
